Some people are good about returning things. After a recent dinner party at our house, I gave one of our guests some leftovers in a little plastic container. A few days later, the container was on our doorstep, clean and shiny, with a lovely thank-you card inside.

I thought, Now, why can't I do that?

Not long ago, I managed to finally get a friend's pie pan back to him. But I didn't put anything in it. I mean, what do you put in a pie pan? Hey, at least I got it to him.

Usually, I wait in dread for The Phone Call.

"Hey," the lender says. "Listen, I was wondering, are you finished using that [fill in the blank: mop, bucket, rake, cooler, platter, bowl, shovel, clippers, CD, book, saw, TV]? I thought I might come by this evening and get it."

"No, no, no," I reply. "I'm so sorry. I'll bring it over."

"No, that's okay, I was going out anyway."

"No, really. I can't believe I've kept it this long. I was going out, too. Right now, in fact. I was on my way out the door. Hear that? That's the door shutting behind me. I'll be right over. I have the [fill in the blank: mop, bucket, rake, cooler, platter, bowl, shovel, clippers, CD, book, saw, TV] in the car."

This happened just the other day.

I received a call from the lender of the rake. He was actually calling for his cooler. He remembered the rake a few minutes later and called back.

After getting the call, my wife scrubbed the ice chest till it gleamed inside. Unfortunately, it didn't gleam outside. It was smudged with a dirt stain that was impossible to get out. What could we do?

I just picked up the cooler and the rake, put them in the car, and drove over to the lender's house. When I arrived, he was enjoying a nice glass of wine. Although he knew I was coming, I felt like I was interrupting his evening. Which I was. There is no good time to return borrowed items that should have been returned long ago.

The lender, though, is a gracious man and he invited me in.

I propped the loud-mouthed rake against the wall and sort of scooted the cooler toward him.

I thought I saw his face smush up. It's the smudge, I thought. He saw it. That smudge wasn't there. That's another thing that happens when you don't give stuff back. It disintegrates. I wondered, Should I say anything? What should I say? Uh, hey, uh, that smudge? It was there when we borrowed it.