Well then. That was a rush.
Now to figure out what in the hell just happened. As far as you can tell, you've been transformed from a male human to some sort of bovine MILF. Could it be because of the fungus? You thought for sure that you'd gotten it all off. In fact, you're positive you did. Your almost rubbed your foot raw in the shower last night. So what could have done this to you?
Your first thought is obviously the milk you just drank, and while that was clearly some sort of catalyst, something else is at work here. People don't turn into cow-creatures just because they drink from the carton, however strangely bottomless it might be. So what was actually behind this?
You haul yourself out of the chair, and get to your feet. Hooves? Whatever. First thing you should do is clean up the mess you've just made. Grabbing a handful of paper towels from the roll on the counter, you tear off half of them, dab a few drops of soap onto them, and set them aside. The other half you use to wipe up the milk you spilled onto the kitchen table and the floor below. Thank god you dropped the carton right-side-up, otherwise this would be an even worse mess. Once you've soaked up the milk (taking great care not to touch the liquid directly again), you use the soaped-up towels to clean off the rest so the room won't wind up smelling like rancid dairy. Finally, you cap up the carton and stick it back in the fridge. You consider throwing it out entirely, but decide not to just in case it could be used to reverse this somehow.
Okay, clean-up done. Next to get some clothes on. Obviously your normal underwear won't fit. After all, it got ripped to shreds during your transformation. Thankfully you still have some of your old clothes from back before you started working out. You'd been using them as rags for house work and painting. Plus it was a nice ego boost to compare those huge things to your current ones. Well, your former current ones. Shit. You look down and, just as a guess, figure you've put on at least a hundred pounds, half of it muscle thankfully. You doubt you'd be able to hold up all this extra mass otherwise. Either way, looks like it's back to your old size until you can get something more fitting. You dig deep in the back of your closet dresser and pull out your biggest, most stretched-out pair of boxers. Yesterday it would have hung off your body like parachute pants. Now, though, you have to wriggle your way back in, sending shockwaves up your hips and butt that feel far too nice for comfort. Can't let yourself get distracted. Though on that note, your tail feels trapped inside of these things, and since you don't have junk right now, you pull them off, flip them around, and stick your tail through the hole in the back so it can hang free.
Next, pants. With a bit of struggling and cursing, you manage to get into old pair of cargo shorts, lined with pockets. They hug your hips like something out of a Tomb Raider game, but at least they fit and have storage space left. You know plenty of women are stuck wearing pants with no pockets or, even worse, fake pockets. No purses for you, thank you very much. You slip your phone, keys, and wallet into their respective pockets, which gives you a slight bit of comfort. You never really feel safe without those on you. You still don't, but at least it's something. You go to zip them up, but stop halfway through, as the metal teeth come worryingly close to the bottom of your udder. With a bit of adjusting, you manage to get it all closed up without any painful snags. A few quick cuts from a pair of scissors, plus some work with an old sewing kit out of your nightstand, add a hole for your tail in the back of the pants.
The shirt's a bit more of an issue. Your new form, despite its feminine build, is bigger and broader-shouldered than your human form, which rules out any of your current wardrobe. You dip back into the old clothes in the back, pull out all the shirts you can find, and start going through them one by one.
The first, a light blue polo shirt with a single pocket, feels nice at first, but ends up being way too tight in the chest. As you try to breathe in after putting it on, the fabric presses down on your breasts enough that you pull it back off. The second, a black dress shirt, is uncomfortably scratchy on your nipples, and gets tossed aside as well. Number three, a red plaid work shirt, fits quite nicely, though you have to leave the top button popped open for comfort's sake, and it stops short leaving you with a midriff you would have loved on someone else. Still, it's comfortable enough, and you have to admit it looks good on this body, so it stays on. You go through a few more shirts, pants, and underwear, setting aside the ones that work, adding tail-holes to the pants, and putting the rest back into the dresser drawers.
That covers clothes for now. With what you've been through so far, plus the amount of sewing you just did, you think you've earned a breather. You flop down onto the couch, grab your remote, and flip on the television for some mindless entertainment.