When I politely asked my neighbor Shannon to stop sunbathing in bikinis right outside my teenage son’s window, I didn’t expect a toilet to appear on my lawn. But that’s exactly what she did—planted a grimy old toilet with a sign: “FLUSH YOUR OPINION HERE!”I should’ve known she’d be trouble. Since moving in, she’d painted her house every color of a crayon box and turned her yard into a personal runway. My 15-year-old son, Jake, was mortified. “Mom, I can’t even open my window!” he groaned after yet another sunbathing display.

So I tried being civil. I asked if she could move her lounger somewhere else on her massive two-acre property. Shannon, ever the drama queen, responded with sarcasm, a life coach recommendation, and then the toilet.Still, I smiled and waited. Shannon escalated with parties, karaoke at 3 a.m., and a drum circle. Then karma stepped in.One day, she called emergency services over the toilet—claiming it was a sewage hazard. Firefighters showed up, took one look, and basically told her to stop wasting their time.

Unfazed, she took her antics to the roof with her lounger and margarita. But her victory pose ended in a splashy downfall when her sprinkler system triggered mid-sunbath, sending her sliding into her own flowerbed.Covered in mud and shame, Shannon finally toned it down. The toilet vanished. She installed a privacy fence. Peace returned.“Is it safe now?” Jake asked over breakfast.I smiled. “Yeah. The show’s been canceled.”