A little while ago, my wife’s car died in the parking lot of a video store. It’s an older car, a hand-me-down from her grandfather who pretty much drove it to the store and back once a week for a decade. It had been making all sorts of funny noises for a while, so its not starting all of a sudden wasn’t particularly surprising. But my wife had just gotten dental surgery and half of her face was numb; she didn’t particularly want to deal with calling the tow truck or finding a mechanic to figure out what was wrong with the car. She walked home, and along the way called me. The car became my responsibility.