“How much more conservative could my outfit get?” I thought as I popped the last rhinestone from my boots. It would be worth looking unremarkable (no cleavage and no bling), though, to get the funding. The corset, squeezed my waist, was covered by what felt like burlap on my bare skin; I would suffer looking like an emaciated beggar. I stepped into the hallway, anticipating the cordial meeting. The doorman seemed to stifle a snicker at my appearance; maybe I was just being paranoid. I stepped across the threshold to be met with bare ass cracks pointed in my direction.