The feud with my neighbor has festered for a year or two now. He cusses at my children when they sled down the knoll near the property line. He grouses when I shovel snow near his garage. Come to think of it, the feud consists of my neighbor’s being a sorehead and my having the misfortune to live next door.

If you were to knock on the door some random afternoon and ask him to explain his beef, as I did recently, he would reply, quite affably, that he doesn’t care to shovel the snow more than once. And then he might say, “I don’t think we’ve ever spoken before,” and shake your hand. Who’s the sorehead? you ask.