The Case of the Kleptomaniac Wizard

I've been pondering a lot about wizards lately.  The way that think they're vastly superior to all us No-Majs.  With their secret societies, and their bathrobes for clothing, and their penchant for endorsing creature-based indentured servitude.  Who died and made them Dumbledore?

Maybe I'm just testy because of the last conversation that I had with Joe Pigglebottom, who just happens to be an auror in this place called the Ministry of Magic.  We were going to go to  see Paddington 2, ​and he just pops in and...well you tell me.

*pop*

Joe: Hey, man, you ready?
Me: Dude, you can't just pop in like that.  We talked about it.  What if I was naked?
Joe: Then I could tweak your nipples.
Me: I don't think you understand.  I don't want my nipples tweaked.
Joe: Fine, I won't apparate in anymore. I'll ring the doorbell like a schmuck.
Me: That's all I'm asking.  Anyway, Jenny said she may want to go with us.
Joe: Great!  I'll just apparate over and...
Me: No!  You can just pop out of thin air inside people's houses.  What if she's naked?
Joe: Then I'll tweak her nipples.
Me: That's called sexual assault.  And it's genuinely frowned upon.
Joe: You muggles are so prudish.  Fine, just let me get my parchment, an ink bottle and a quill.

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