There is a secret folder on my computer.
I created it a few years ago, when I realised my embarrassing secret needed to be contained, and contained quietly. Nobody knows about this folder. It just sits there, patiently, inconspicuously, waiting to be filled with fresh material.
The folder is labelled “Rosie’s Tax Invoices”. But it’s not filled with ‘Rosie’s tax invoices’ (I’m 28 and I still have a Pez Dispenser collection – I’m not even close to being that organised).
No – the “tax” label is a genius and complex ruse, designed to keep prying eyes from snooping at my secret shame. You know how people panic about their internet history getting into the wrong hands? That’s how I feel about this folder. So, should my future husband John Oliver ever happen to find my computer after I leave it on the bus (or, more realistically, should my little sister ever borrow my computer without asking), my flawless tax label plan means they’ll never find out my humiliating secret.
Because the fact is, the folder on my computer labelled Rosie’s Tax Invoices is actually filled with… Oh god… I can’t even say it…
The folder on my computer labelled Rosie’s Tax Invoices is actually filled with wedding stuff.
So. Much. Wedding. Stuff.
And I don’t even have a boyfriend. Oh god this is humiliating.
I honestly don’t know how it started. I just found a picture of a ring I liked one day, and before I knew it, I was making fake folders and disguising jpegs and signing up to the Vera Wang website. There have even been times I’ve turned down social invitations because I was so far down a Pinterest ‘funky table setting’ rabbit hole, it just didn’t feel worth it to leave the house.
The folder would easily have at least 500 pictures in it by now, although I stopped counting a couple of years ago. Engagement rings, flowers, wedding dresses, invitations, bridesmaids gowns, shoes, suits for the groom, lighting, food… I’ve got it all covered in my mysterious folder of lies.
There is wedding inception on my laptop – that’s how deep this thing goes. Just like the folder they are hidden in, each jpeg has its own special name so as to avoid detection. That oval diamond with the dainty gold band? ‘Editorial Meeting June 2013’. The Johanna Johnson dress that has the sleeves I like? ‘Payslip May 2012’.
Rosie’s Tax Invoices is like the Bermuda Triangle of shame on my computer – I can’t go in there without my dignity disappearing.
But how did I end up here? How did I end up knee-deep in a creepy cesspool of wedding picture shame?