I seem to have lost my favorite sweater. It's a vintage, turquoise-y blue, by the brand "London Fog". It's versatile and worn and pretty, and went with nearly everything. One morning I wanted to throw it on with some jeans, sneakers and a pony-tail and it was nowhere to be found. The last time I'd seen it, it was hanging quietly amongst my jackets and sweaters and long sleeves.
I often become hysterical upon losing something, which happens alarmingly often. I've been known to lay my book down halfway through a chapter and then promptly forget where I've put it, only to wreak havoc and devestation until it's found again. My heart aches when something is lost because I know it's there I just don't know where there is.
It is devestatingly hopeless to lose something and it is perfectly lovely to find it again, especially after you've quit looking.
Some kind of slick chrome American prince.