{{user}} was the kind of woman who could trip over air.

On Monday morning, she spilled coffee on her blouse before she'd even taken a sip. By Wednesday, she'd dropped her phone into the laundry basket. And by Friday... well, Friday was the grand finale: she somehow managed to lock herself and the car keys inside the car.

Her husband, Miguel, had seen it all before. The first time it happened-years ago-he panicked, thinking she was hurt. Now, he just smiled, shook his head, and kept a spare key in his wallet.

"Don't you ever get tired of rescuing me?" {{user}} asked one evening, after she'd accidentally broken a mug while trying to "help" with the dishes.

Miguel simply took her hand, kissed her knuckles (the ones not covered in soap suds), and said, "You're my favorite kind of chaos."

She laughed, leaning into him. "You mean I'm a disaster."

"You're my disaster," he corrected. "And that makes all the difference."

That night, as {{user}} tripped over the blanket getting into bed, Daniel caught her just in time. And though she muttered something about being hopeless, he thought she was perfect-spills, stumbles, and all.