It is official. Flicker has lost the plot.
She and the Architect invited me to their "love nest" for dinner the other night, where I was subjected to an hour of bridal porn.
"Bridal what?" I hear you ask.
Bridal porn. Thick, glossy magazines featuring all things wedding, stored secretly under the bed away from prying eyes.
In the same way teenage boys have a secret porn stash, Flicker has accumulated a two-foot hight pile of bridal magazines, covered in flag-it notes highlighting her favourite dresses, cakes, hair styles and rings.
I am not exaggerating in the slightest. The flag-it notes are colour coded - purple for dresses, blue for reception ideas, little pink post-its are flowers, big pink post-its are rings and yellow is for stationery and bomboniere.
Bomboniere, Flicker authoratively enlightened me, are those little gifts you get at weddings - sugared almonds or personalised chocolates.
This behaviour would be a little disturbing if Flicker was getting married, but not completely unexpected.
However, given the couple is not even engaged it is Grade-A crazy town.
She first told me about her bridal porn some time ago, and I thought it was quite an amusing joke. Nothing like taking a bridal magazine home to freak your boyfriend out.
But when I saw the full collection, I realised the problem was far more serious.
I think it may be an addiction.
Is that possible?
She actually said last night - and I quote verbatim - "Sometimes I lie awake at night stressing over the colour palette".
On the one hand, while I find her behaviour disturbing and scary, I am also secretly quite pleased.
Compared to this carry-on, nothing I say or do can ever be considered neurotic or mad. Which is never a bad thing.
Oh, and before anyone starts feeling sorry for the Architect, I should point out it was in fact HE who purchased the first bridal magazine for her, thus unleashing the beast.
He has but himself to blame. Silly man.