Lady in Red

Things, and more specifically, my things tend to up and disappear. Vanish.
Like a thief in the night, they tiptoe quietly into the darkness, never to be seen again.

They leave no note, no forwarding address, no explanation. I'm left wondering if it's something I did. Something I said? Something the husband did? You see, he's the laundry lady in our home. Except he's not a lady.

I wonder if maybe he put them on the spin cycle, when they explicitly asked for gentle. Tumbled dry, instead of hanging. It could be anything.

One of these missing items was a beloved red bra. Gorgeous. Sexy. Sassy. She provided a great support system for me. We bonded almost instantly.

A little over 6 months ago, she left me. Gone without a trace. I was puzzled and distressed, and clearly confused. You see, I distinctly recall hanging her on the coat tree downstairs to dry. I went down there one day to retrieve her, and gone.

I asked the husband in the most shrill and hysterical tone I could muster, just where in the ever loving hell he put the god damned thing. I'm kind and patient and loving like that.

He professed his innocence. I didn't touch it, I swear, he says.

I tore the house apart. Top drawers, bottom drawers, his drawers. Nada. Closet space, empty space, myspace. Nothing.

Missing clothes is a sore spot between he and I. I fly off the handle often and viciously when things go missing. It may be my only personality flaw. I've mentioned it a number of times over the past few months, and he still plead innocent.

I've done a few more frantic searches, called in the dogs, pled on national tv for it's safe return. All turned up nothing.

So 2 months ago, I just wrote it off. I made peace with the lingerie Gods, and said a silent goodbye to my long lost friend.

Fast forward to this morning. I'm flipping madly through my closet looking for a specific belt. The belts usually hang on the first hanger in the closet, but today, it wasn't there.

So I painstakingly sort each article of clothing, looking long and hard for this belt. I brush past this black windbreaker that hasn't been worn in a dog's age, when something catches my eye.

I quickly yank the windbreaker out of the closet, and what is stuck to the velcro of the collar?

MY RED BRA.

You see, the windbreaker at one point in time hung on the coat tree downstairs, and when the darling hubby brought it upstairs I guess the bra stuck to the collar.

I just have one question, husband. How the hell did you not notice the black on red contrast? Enquiring minds want to know :)

However, I happily rejoiced, discarded the pink partner in crime bra, and quickly fastened Ms. Red.

Fit like a second skin.

The hole in my heart has been filled.