Searching frantically, I sweep a gloved hand under the couch, the recliner, and even under the edge of the carpet. I peer under the coffee table (where I spy fossilized peas) and sort through the book bin (where I discover the little guy's plastic cell phone, which he was seeking yesterday). I'm heading out for an all-too-infrequent date night, so I'm frantic to get ready.
With my white pumps on and a flowered hat, I'm excited about accompanying my man to a special gallery opening. He's taking me to a display of works by our favorite artist. And wouldn't you know it, then I go and lose something important. What's the old joke: you'd lose your head if it wasn't glued on?
I grab my pink purse and search one more time, hoping against hope that I'll find what I'm seeking before my hubby arrives. But then, the door creaks open, and he calls, "Ready to go?" He's wearing his top hat and shiny black shoes, his mustache carefully groomed. He sees me and bursts out laughing; not the response I wanted on our special night. "How are you going to kiss me like that?" he asks.
Embarrassed, I cover the curved hole where my lips should be. I gesture with my arms but can't speak.
"That little tyke had you out in the garden again, didn't he? Look what I found under the bushes while I was getting you a present." First, he hands me a beautiful pink clover flower. Then, from behind his back, he produces what I'm seeking.
Eagerly, I slip it in place and squeal triumphantly. "Thank you, honey! What would I do without you?" I am finally able to speak.
"Well, it wouldn't be much of a date night without a mouth, would it?" he says, with a wink. My husband, my hero.
Holding out his arm, he escorts me into the kitchen, where we tour the new refrigerator display of the children's latest artwork. Some of it is refreshingly abstract, like a Jackson Pollack. My husband tells me what he's learned by peering over the oldest daughter's art books. He may not seem like much, on the outside, but I'm proud to call myself Mrs. Potato Head.