That
man on the end didn't have a thought in his head. He would have
smeared the entire number." I was the man on the end.
_May 23d._ This has not been a particularly agreeable day, although to
a woman no doubt it would have been laden with moments of exquisite
ecstasy. Feminine apparel for me has lost for ever the charm of
mystery that formerly touched it with enchantment. There is nothing I
do not know now. Its innermost secret has been revealed and its
revelation has brought with it its full burden of woe. All knowledge
is pain and vice versa. I have always admired women; whether so
profoundly as they have admired me I know not; however that may be, I
have always admired them collectively and individually in the past,
but after today's experience my admiration is tinged with pity. The
source of these reflections lies in no less an article than a corset.
As a Show Girl, it has been my lot to be provided with one of these
fiendish devices of medieval days. It is too much. The corset must go.
No woman could have experienced the pain and discomfort I have been
subjected to this day without feeling entitled to the vote. Yet I dare
say there are women who would gladly be poured into a new corset every
day of their lives.
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