A load of balls

Working next door to a cash and carry has its advantages.  I enjoy sometimes going in for a browse, imagining buying a big wheel of cheese to make some mouse crazy with happiness, or marvelling at the pillow sized bags of marshmallows that only a giant could possibly finish (in one go)...  There are insane frozen chocolate cakes too with enough in them for a hike to the arctic circle and possibly back....
but most things there are just too much -  you'll never use that much ketchup yourself, unless you bath in it, the only way you'd ever need that much porridge would be if you were covering the driveway in it, so I don't shop there.
Too much is too much sometimes, and another thing there is a little too much of in my life right now is balls. There are hundreds of balls inside and outside of my home.  The dog probably brought the first of them, but now Danger has acquired a fair few, but worst of all we have tons of balls contributed from the neighbours - they throw and kick them into our back garden at all hours of the day and night.  They break windows.  Knock on the door looking for them back.  Do I sound like a grouch?  I do my best to give the balls back to their rightful owners, unlike the guy who used to live here, apparently his name was Hitler, and he never gave back a single ball - anyway - even as I type, the summer is approaching, the toddler is being fitted with a helmet, balls are bouncing off the windows, the dog is salivating... there is a surplus of round things.