OK. I get that it’s Cape Town, all the Euro’s have left for the winter, the biological clock started ticking, and there’s maybe a little pressure from the parentals to have kids.

But that is absolutely NO excuse to try steal a girl’s man from under her perfectly proportioned nose.

I recently had my first experience with the Boy Snatcher. We were acquaintances, had many things in common, and she didn’t seem to be a bit freaky and twisted. (Well, I couldn’t tell after that many Pornstar Martini’s.)

There are unwritten rules of Womanhood- never wear white shoes, never wear stockings with peep-toes, never try pole-dance when drunk, never try steal a friend’s love interest, to name but a few.

I have my eye (both, in fact) on a particular man. He’s lovely, albeit verrrrrrrry slow on the uptake… or secretly gay. (Wouldn’t be the first time.)

He’s from another country so I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt, that when I said I’d like to see him again, perhaps he misunderstood me. (Must remember to speak slower.)

Anyhoo. I invited him along to a night out. I briefed my “friend”, telling her that I fancied the corduroys off Slow Boy.

He arrived, and was charming and effusive as ever. During conversation, I even got a little shoulder grip and knee grazing action. Hmm. Promising.

Things were all looking peachy until I went to the little girls room and came back to find Boy Snatcher batting her eyelashes and flipping her hair all up in Slow Boy’s grill, hand dangerously perched on his thigh. At first I couldn’t believe my eyeballs. Surely not. Maybe I’d been mistaken. Then I remembered in the earlier briefing, I’d shown pictures of Slow Boy I’d craftily snuck off Facebook and showed her. He looks exactly the same as the boy in the photo’s, and Boy Snatcher doesn’t require glasses to see.

Resisting an urge to set fire to her hair, I decided to do what I do best, and use my death stare I learned in private school.

I then mingled with other friends, leaving the situation up to Cupid.

After an hour or so, Slow Boy emerged and said “whew, that girl’s full-on!! She said I’m the sorta guy she could see herself marrying!!”. I said “Wow! And she would know! She’s been married 4 times.”

She hasn’t.

Later, I shared my story with all my other girls. Girls more like me. One had had a similar situation with Boy Snatcher.

What a silly cow. Cape Town’s small. Last thing a girl needs is no friends and to be left sitting alone at the bar with a warm beer and stenching terribly of Desperado.