We established the rules: Men are keys. Women are locks.
A man’s value is determined by how many doors he can open. A woman’s value is determined by how well she keeps the door shut. That’s the biology. That’s the history. That’s the deal.
So why, you ask, does a woman who has already given the key to one man feel the need to stand on the porch and let every other key in the neighborhood try to fit into the hole?
It’s not about sex. Not usually. Men cheat for variety. We cheat because we’re hungry dogs and we see a steak.
Women cheat for validation.
See, a lock doesn’t know it’s valuable unless people are trying to pick it.
A woman lives on attention. It’s her oxygen. It’s her currency. When she was single, she got it for free. Men held doors, bought drinks, texted her, chased her. She was the prize.
Then she gets married. She gives the key to you. And you, being a good, stable, boring husband, you stop chasing. You stop picking the lock because you already own the goddamn house. You put the key in your pocket and you go mow the lawn.
And she starts to starve.
She’s sitting there, starving for that feeling of being hunted. Of being wanted. Not just “loved” in a comfortable, old-shoe kind of way, but desired in a dangerous, “I-would-burn-down-my-life-for-you” kind of way.
So she goes out.
She dresses up in the push-up bra and the heels. She goes to the bar with her girlfriends. She texts the “work husband” who listens to her complain about you. She keeps the “guy friends” on Facebook who slide into her DMs with little compliments.
She’s not looking to open the door (most of the time). She just wants to hear the rattle.
She wants to know that if she did decide to unlock it, there would be a line of men waiting to get in. She wants to know that she still has market value. She’s getting an appraisal on the house she’s already sold.
Is it cheating?
If I’m a key, and I’m trying to open a lock that isn’t mine, that’s attempted burglary.
If she’s a lock, and she’s letting other keys jiggle the mechanism just to see if they fit… yeah, buddy. That’s cheating.
It’s emotional cheating. It’s attention cheating.
She’s giving away the most precious thing she has—her energy, her focus, her validation—to men who haven’t earned it. She’s letting them lean on the Lamborghini. She’s letting them look under the hood. She’s letting them fantasize about the test drive.
And why?
Because she’s insecure. Because the modern world told her that being a “wife” isn’t enough. That she needs to be a “bad bitch,” a “boss babe,” a desirable object to everyone, not just the poor bastard paying the mortgage.
She’s collecting keys. Not to use them. But just to hear them jingle in her pocket. It makes her feel safe. It makes her feel powerful. It makes her feel like she has options.
And a woman with options is a woman who doesn’t have to respect you.
So when you see her texting that guy from work, or dressing up for a night out without you, don’t buy the “I just want to dance” bullshit.
She’s advertising. She’s putting the “For Sale” sign in the yard just to see if anyone makes an offer.
And that, my friend, is a dangerous goddamn game for a lock to play. Because eventually, one of those keys is going to turn. And once the door is open, you can never really shut it again.
