unhitching the welcome wagon

To be fair, and God knows I am always fair and calm and level-headed, the Welcome Wagon never exactly drove into town to meet me.  More precisely, I don't like my neighbors.  The ones across the park.

Note the word "park".  It means verdant stretches, designed to welcome young and old, to encourage play and joy, and the appreciation of nature. It does not mean this:

Oh! You say!  Are you implying something?  Not at all.  I am. spelling. it. out.

These particular neighbors thought they wanted a tennis court.  Some folks approach the idea of a tennis court by installing one a pleasant distance from their abode.  Like this:

Others, say, like maybe the folks who live across from the park from me, do it this way:

And they paint this diagram on the street.  Immediately in front of their house.

Oh! I'm sorry!  Did I just insert a photo?

Luckily for the tennis court painting on the street right outside their house neighbors, I have the patience of a:

(saint) (for those who don't know me.) (Hell. for those that do.)

I go now.  To adjust all the mirrors I have angled towards their rooftop.