For women, though, success is difficult to carry off. It will certainly repel the weak men of the world. Worn too brazenly, it can send even the strongest hunter in search of smaller game.
Of course, this isn't an absolute. Nothing in love is. I mean, look at Julia Roberts and Danny Whatever-His-Name-Is, and Queen Elizabeth and Prince Charles's dad, and now you, the man with the more-successful love. One could consider you fellas exceptions to the rule. You guys could start a club where you sit around in your boxers all day, watch Saved by the Bell reruns, and eat popsicles.
Members of this club don't need their pants, because they ain't wearing them anymore. They have handed the "pants" of the relationship over to the head of the household.
But think about it: Why would women wear pants, anyway? They don't need the pockets. They already have a purse for their wallets, makeup, $20-million movie contracts, and ChapStick.
I'll tell you why. They wear the pants because the pants have pockets to carry your balls in. You are now wearing the apron. (And it's not nearly as flattering as the cowboy shirt, buddy.)
When your woman starts picking up the tab, you have to start doing things you weren't programmed to do: clean up the apartment, make dinner, ask permission. Sure, you could leave. But what would that get you? It would get you exactly what you had before—that tiny apartment with that tiny TV.
Successful women aren't going away; they're multiplying like low-carb beers. So you can wrap yourself in cowboy shirts, wear empty popsicle boxes for shoes, and cry yourself to sleep. Or, you can reach down into those wrinkled boxers and get singed by the hot coals of manhood that are—surprise!—still burning. Put that frostbitten orange tongue back in your mouth, and paradigm-shift your ass into high gear. Hell, man, she's freed you of the breadwinner's burden—that's her job now. She's got the big brush on the canvas of your partnership; it's your job to add some depth and detail.
Point the laser-like focus you would have applied to finishing that box of Otter Pops toward the things that really make you happy: carpentry, writing people's names on grains of rice down at the farmers' market, becoming a math teacher.