"Tell me," I wheeze, cinching my cummerbund shut, as she squirms her way lithe and uncomfortable into something slinky across from me: "why do women make us wear tuxedos?"

She considers, straps limp off her shoulders. "Revenge."

"Revenge?" I repeat, hunting for my tie. She presses herself to my side, dangles it away from my face.

"For corsets."

"...ah."