Can you hear the weddingbells?

If you do, you probably suffer from a concussion and have to go to the emergency room immediately.

I went on my third compulsory-by-mother date on Friday evening. And although I kinda feel like an old, desperate cow being auctioned off to the first and most equally desperate bidder, I still see it as an occasion to introduce this side of the world to Fabulousity by Fashion.

Now men don't usually notice details. When they open the grocery cupboard all they see are shelves with items that will eventually find their way to their rumbling stomach and preferably not prepared by themselves, but and equally rumbling female.

When women open the grocery cupboard, we turn into those scanners at a till: we spot all. We even notice spices that are arranged in alphabetical order and our hands become like the tongue of a frog that has spotted a delicious fly: snatch and grab. Quick. Simple. Easy.

This is usually the reason for men saying:

"You look nice"

or if they're really daring:

"That dress brings out the color of your eyes."

Really? I must be having a serious case of pink eyes then and will join you with the concussion in the emergency room stat.

That's why I was so surprised when Date #3 got up, took my hand and said:

"A woman who can wear those Louis Vuitton shoes without it wearing her deserves a standing ovation."

Right there and then I knew this evening would be as unforgettable as the Madonna and Britney kiss. Just in a PG way.

Clint and I hit if off from the word "Chanel" and it felt like we'd been friends since our womb-days. We even dared karaoke and got a bit carried away with Time of my life by doing that last dance from Dirty Dancing as an ode to Patrick Swayze (whom we both loved and adored).

Except for that last lift. Please, that would just be social suicide.

I suspected Clint was gay from the start and he admitted and embraced that fact straight away. We talked about how his parents were in total denial of this. Being from a strict Protestant Afrikaans family (they even have the farm to go with the family history) it's not hard to believe that his parents would turn a blind eye to the fact that their son would much rather be out on a Friday night with his sweet and understanding partner of eight years than singing the duet of My endless love with an equally frustrated new lady friend.

When I asked him why he doesn't just tell them the truth, he said with a far off look:

"I can't hurt them like that. They are proud people; proud to the extent of cutting their right arm off if it were to go against what they believe. They have been so good to me and telling them would break their hearts. I simply don't have the courage yet."

Just to make sure Clint was really gay and not just faking it like this one guy I knew that would always come to our hostel pretending to be gay just so he could sneak a peak of our naked bums via the keyhole of the bathroom door, I asked Clint when we got back from the stage and sat down at our table:

"Would you like to touch my boobs?"

He smiled, took a sip of his drink and said:

"If I had any desire to fondle boobs, I'd pinch my own or Shane's (the sweet, understanding partner of eight years). But if it'll make you feel better, I'll grab your ass when we go sing All the single ladies."

He truly knows the way to a woman's self esteem.