My neighbor Denise had borrowed at least ten things from me that year.
It started innocently enough.
First, my ladder.
Then the pressure washer.
After that, she gradually moved on to things from my kitchen.
My slow cooker.
My steamer.
A large cooler.
My favorite roasting pan.
Almost everything came back late, dirty, damaged, or missing some small piece.
And Denise never seemed particularly bothered by any of it.
The first few times, I convinced myself it wasn’t worth creating tension.
We had lived next door to each other for
