Strange obsession with trashy novel

Chick lit is really not what it used to be anymore. My girlfriend used to amuse herself by curling up with a Jane Austen or Helen Fielding paperback on rainy Sunday afternoons, or retreating to the escapism of Sophie Kinsella's series of Shopaholic books. I've even caught her with an old copy of Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus on vacation by the pool.

But last year, she became disturbingly obsessed with one particular tome. Yes, it's none other than that talked-about tawdry bestseller, 50 Shades of Grey. In case your literary taste is above such trashy pulp, E.L. James' erotic novels are a trilogy about a college graduate, Ana Steele, who enters into an S&M relationship with a wealthy businessman named Christian Grey.

Her fascination with the book scares me a little. I'll admit that I'm a bit old-fashioned and conservative. It might be nice to spice up a relationship, but when she first mentioned the book includes a lot of BDSM, I thought: "What? The story is set within a Singaporean bank?"

Actually, I thought the kinky behaviour in the 50 Shades books would have my innocent honeybun blushing. I never imagined she would be - heaven forbid! - excited by its rough bit of slap and tickle.

My previous idea of combining pain and pleasure had been watching her blissfully buy new clothes while abusing my credit card on a shopping spree. But now that Hollywood has made the book into one of the year's most anticipated films, I'm positively shuddering. Indeed, my sugarcakes has been whipping herself into a frenzy in anticipation of the movie.

The thing is, she tends to empathise with her book's characters. When her previous favourite, Bridget Jones's Diary, was released as a film, she completely identified with Renée Zellweger's portrayal. For a while, she even wore a pair of giant knickers just to try it out.

So when the 50 Shades movie comes out, I'm not sure she won't suddenly become excessively dominant, or want us to role play with handcuffs or secure a dungeon somewhere. Heaven knows PVC is not very comfortable in this humid Asian climate.

Therefore, I am dreading Valentine's Day, because I already know I will be standing in line at the cinema, holding a large bouquet of a dozen roses while waiting to watch characters get into bondage and spank each other. I must remember to clip off all the thorns on the stems in case she decides to flagellate me with them afterwards.

For many holiday seasons after the Bridget Jones's Diary film, she forced me to wear a succession of exceedingly ugly Christmas sweaters - just like Colin Firth's Mark Darcy character. After 50 Shades of Grey, I am very concerned I will be submitted to even more cruel and unusual humiliation.

The Aristocrat