It’s Friday night, and I’m pondering one of life’s great mysteries: where in the world is my favorite coffee mug? You know, the one with the chipped handle that has somehow become a part of my identity? The one that seems to have more mileage than my gym shoes but also brings that perfect sense of comfort with every sip?

I’ve looked in the usual spots—kitchen counter, the top of the dishwasher, the office, even the car. How do I misplace something I use every single day? It’s almost as if it’s taken a page out of the sock’s playbook. But this isn’t a sock. This is my beloved mug. And now I’m on a rescue mission.

I wonder, do mugs just get up and walk away when they’ve had enough? Do they decide to go on their own “Eat, Pray, Love” journey of self-discovery? What would my mug even seek out? Perhaps it’s off with other lost household items, having a philosophical chat with those socks, sunglasses, and pens that vanish without a trace.

Honestly, it feels like a metaphor for life sometimes—things you think will always be there can disappear without warning, and you’re left standing in the kitchen wondering where it all went wrong.

But as the night grows later, I realize the mug might not be lost, just momentarily misplaced—like so many things we worry about. It’ll turn up, probably in the one place I haven’t thought to check yet. Until then, I’ll sip my tea from a stand-in cup and dream of our reunion.

Mugs, like many things in life, have their own timing, I guess.