My two favourite pairs of winter ankle boots are starting to look a bit shabby.
And yes, even bloody boots bring back painful memories!
Rog and I took a romantic trip together, travelled to Argentina, to visit our exchange student daughter and her family in 2016. Not even two years before Trinket marched into our relationship. We had such a fabulous time! Travelling was not something we had ever been able to afford to do. Neither the money, nor the time away from the farm.
He was already experimenting with online dating at this stage, and I had no idea. He told me so many times on that trip, that I was the only woman he had ever wanted, the sexiest he’d ever met. The love of his life.
All that bullshit. All that manipulation to keep me hooked on him. Hooked on hopium. That maybe his long affair with my friend really was just a once off (LOL!!! Sure. Cool. Bummer. Wow.)
Anyway, whilst there, the local footwear fashion was flat, high platformed rubber soled boots. Every girl was sporting a pair. I eventually bought a rich magenta coloured pair, in the softest leather, to take home. They have been so comfortable, such a great pair of casual jean boots. I think they are nearly at the end, but I still shove them on with jeans, to do quick town jobs.
We rarely shopped for clothes, etc, together, but he was with me, and so very encouraging of me to buy these, calling them my Most Excellent Beetle Crushers.
Online shopping this morning, and my heart aches so badly at the memories of both that moment, but that trip in general, at the beginning of my Masters journey.
I was writing a research paper on duality of belonging after a high school exchange experience. Unpacking discourses of “it’s the best thing that can happen to you,” after our own daughter returned with her previously undiagnosed anxiety openly exposed, and my memories of friends returning during my own youth, not really knowing who they were, where they “belonged,” anymore. I interviewed our exchange daughter, and her two older sisters for it whilst in Argentina, all had been exchange students at high school.
It was partially a research trip, but mostly a truly longed for chance for us to reconnect fully. Without the pressures of children, work, farm, money, etc.
And I really thought it worked!
After that trip, I felt a heck of a lot better about us. About myself. About ploughing through the research (my Masters thesis was about changing identities and the emotional geographies of formerly “safe” spaces of home) to become a new version of “us.” About who Roger really was (hint, he wasn’t that person. He still had secrets and was still lying to me.) I’ve since looked back at the photos, and he actually looks pretty terrible. I never saw it at the time. His skin is grey. He looks sallow, his eyes are dead, and there are no whole face smiles. It’s so sad. I remember such a happy trip, with moments of sadness that he had despoiled us with his fucking and living another life, with another woman. That we would never be that old couple who were always totally devoted to each other – as I thought we were prior to Leanne texting me about their affair. I was more content than I had been ever since Dday, on that trip.
So yeah. Don’t shop for boots. It’s an infidelity agony rabbit hole!