A missing piece

I have this thing about missing pieces. It bothers me....alot. If there is a piece missing from a puzzle, a board game, a set of books, a collection of rocks....whatever, I can't stop thinking about it. I give myself about 3 weeks to find it and then I end up getting rid of the whole thing. Even as I write this, I am acutely aware that our Sorry game is missing one yellow and two red pawns. I contemplate possible hiding places. As I was driving today I decided I should look under the armoir in the living room....or maybe it's in the magazine/diaper basket.

The other day I put together a 1000 piece puzzle. I have no idea where this puzzle came from. It didn't look like the kind of puzzle I would buy, but it was fun to sort out the side pieces and watch the whole thing come together. As I got closer to the end, it became disconcertingly clear that there weren't as many pieces left as empty spaces. There was one missing. ONE PIECE. I scoured the floor, under the bed, baseboards, behind the nightstands. Nopity nope. It made me sweat because I can't leave a thousand piece puzzle just lying around for the 3 week probationary period and I can't put the puzzle back in the box. I'd have to put a note on it that says, "Missing a piece" because I'm not about to put together a puzzle that I know will never be completed. Am I the only one that loves to stroke my hand over the surface of a freshly completed puzzle? That is satisfaction.

Mark notices me looking and looking. Getting a bit agitated.

He took a piece of paper and slipped it behind the puzzle, traced the outline, carefully drawing in what should have been there and colored it to match. He took the paper, glued it to the box of the 'Life' game (I hate that game...no big loss) and cut it out. As I sat in frustration by my "almost there" puzzle, he sat down next to me and popped his handmade piece in place.

Love.

I love that man.