It's Indeed the Little Things

Yesterday, I had an emotional breakdown triggered by a teeny tiny rubber band. It was so awful that I would lose sleep over it. 

Let me start by saying that I got a new pickleball paddle. It was not a cheap one, at least for me. I did not even pay for it. But then again, I would never shell out five digits on a paddle myself, which is exactly why getting one feels like such a big deal to me.

Naturally, I did what every new paddle owner does. I installed an overgrip over the stock grip for a thicker, tackier handle. And that meant taking the finishing band off. The installation took about five minutes. Finding the finishing band took me hours, an unhealthy amount of anxiety, and what I'm pretty sure qualifies as a borderline existential crisis.

I'm used to losing things. God knows how many sunglasses, combs, and socks I've lost. 

But this one... this is unfamiliar territory.

Losing a finishing band that is replaceable with an even better and customizable one sent me on a completely unnecessary emotional journey. I even dragged Jan into reviewing two days' worth of CCTV footage. For real. Hahaha 😂

Now imagine the sheer, dumb joy I felt when I found it tucked inside my skincare cabinet. (Parenting lesson #847: if something goes missing, start your search in the least logical place. Odds are, that's exactly where your tiny housemate put it.)

 

I don't know why, but I seem to have weird attachment for this little fella.