Good boots and bad memories

A friend on a knitting forum said this to me today:

I saw something the other day that said you shouldn’t stop liking things that were related to your ex. Even if that ex introduced you to those things, or was an ass, or they broke you.  Because the things you started to like didn’t hurt you, it was the person. Let the things you loved become part of your history, not theirs.

I needed to hear that, because I’d done something emotionally questionable.

My evil ex wore these fantastic engineer boots.  Every day, all year round, all the years I knew him.  I always loved them — not because they were his, but because they’re fucking awesome boots.  I happened across them on Amazon the other day and was reminded of how much I liked them.  I decided, fuck that guy, I wanted a pair.  I had to get the women’s version, because now that I’ve lost weight none of my men’s-size shoes fit (they’re all too wide now).  Zappos had them for the same price with free overnight shipping, so I bought some.  (I had a problem with a Zappos order years ago, and they gave me a VIP account to make up for it.  Handy.)

They arrived today and they fit and I think I love them.  But I was feeling guilty for loving them. Was there something wrong with me for wanting boots like his?  Am I going to be okay with a reminder of him on my feet?  And then my friend said the above, and I started thinking that maybe I’d be fine. Because they really are awesome boots, and they look amazing on me.  I should get the Valkyrie to take a picture later, to show you.  I’m going to own these suckers, dammit.  Because seriously, fuck that guy.

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