"Excuse me, but I think you're in my car."

I had to knock on my own car's window and say just that to two older ladies who decided my car was their car after we all left a wonderful Shostakovich concert a little over a week ago. Silver cars are a dime a dozen, and I walked to one a couple of cars down from mine and hit the unlock button on my remote. I didn't see the headlights flash, so I thought, "Oh, that's not my car." Meanwhile, I had managed to unlock my own car's doors. These two ladies were close behind me, and they saw my car's lights flash and thought they had unlocked their car. What do you know? A comedy of errors! I turned back to my actual car and saw them getting in, so I thought once again, "Oh, that's not my car." Then I wandered around a bit wondering where the heck I had parked and knowing that I had left my car in the general vicinity. Finally, after briefly considering the terrible prospect that maybe my car had been stolen, I pressed the remote again and saw my lights flash. I also saw the two women sitting inside. So I proceeded to tell them they were in the wrong car. I love how they just ignored all of my stuff—umbrella, gloves, empty gum package. The lady in the driver's seat simply said, "Well, honey, this IS your car." I mean, what else could she say, really? The passenger said, "Well, this is the first time anything like this has ever happened!" The driver replied, "Well, no, there was that one time Judy drove off in someone's Cadillac." Hmm. Anyway, they were parked right next to me. Call me crazy, but if you arrive at the symphony wearing a fur coat and driving a Lexus, why on earth would you think you'd be driving home in a Corolla? Way to downgrade, ladies!