My neighbor knocked on my door one Saturday morning. Neighbor: “Bro, can I borrow your car for 30 minutes? I need to pick up something from town.” Me: “What’s wrong with your car?” Neighbor: “Nothing. My wife took it to visit her sister.” I hesitated, but we’d been neighbors for four years. Me: “Fine. Just be careful with it.” He thanked me and drove away. Two hours passed. Then three. I called him. Neighbor: “Bro, there’s a small issue.” Me: “What issue?” Neighbor: “I’m going to explain everything when I get back.” He hung up. At that point, I started imagining the worst. Another hour later, he returned on a motorcycle. My car was nowhere to be seen. Me: “WHERE IS MY CAR?” He took a deep breath. Neighbor: “Please, don’t shout. I can explain.” Me: “You left my house with a car and returned on a motorcycle. What exactly do you want me to understand?” He explained that he’d parked outside a supermarket, gone inside for five minutes, and returned to find the car missing. I was furious. We called the police and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out what happened. Then his wife arrived. She looked at us arguing and asked what was going on. When she heard the story, she burst out laughing. Me: “Madam, somebody stole my car. What’s funny?”