The Orbiting Black Hole (or... Why I Need My Husband)

I have a Black Hole that orbits around me. Nobody can see it, but anyone who knows me, knows it exists.

When I move within 10 feet of any given object, there is a high probability that said object will be sucked into my personal Black Hole, and redeposited in a random area of my home or car. There is also a possibility that said object will be flung into an unknown area of the universe, never to be seen again. Luckily, that possibility seems to be relatively low.

I have a pretty severe cold. When I wake up in the morning, I hack and cough and wheeze until I can breathe again, then I go about my day. This morning, my husband had a great idea. "Hey, babe, you want me to grab that inhaler for you?" If I could've done it without suffocating, I would have made out with him right then and there for such a novel idea.

He brought it to me in bed, I took 2 puffs, which restored my breathing, and then I told him he's rad. He walks into the adjacent room as I'm singing his praises, and I said, "I gotta have you hold on to this for me! It worked brilliantly! Come get it before I lose it." I grabbed for it where I left it, and it wasn't there. I rummaged around the blankets, and it was nowhere to be found. I slapped myself in the forehead.

When my husband heard me say, "Well, sh*t!" he came in and clued me in on the Black Hole. He also told me that in an attempt to save me from losing the only thing that helped make me comfortable, he took it away from me when I was done with it and put it up.

So now, based on my husband's theory, it is my understanding that when I lose my keys, and they turn up in the cat litter box, the Black Hole is responsible. It is also my understanding that when my ladybug underwear are stuffed between the washer and dryer, the Black Hole is responsible. And when I lose my memory, patience, motivation, or my ever-loving mind, I can call a time-out to recover from this "Black-Hole Handicap". And fortunately, I can call my husband, too.

He has another name: The Finder of Lost Things. He has pulled my keys from the cat box. He's found my ladybug underwear, and favorite bra countless times. He has a peg on my keys, no matter where they are. He usually has my wallet in his pocket when we're at the store and I realize I've forgotten it. And time and time again, he has recovered my memories, turned-up my motivation, pulled out my patience like a penny from behind my ear, and has dusted off and returned my sanity to me.

His simple heroics and his ability to find everything I have ever lost - is the most important thing that I have ever found.