14 Illustration by Dan Gluibizzi
During a fourth-grade sleepover, I
awoke in the night frothed over by Bar-
basol. The other kids were tucked in their
sleeping bags, snoring. I woke them to
see if they, too, had been creamed; they
hadn’t been but seemed surprised and
angry on my behalf and off ered to help
fi nd the culprit. I wanted to go back to
sleep, but they insisted we keep search-
ing. And then they could no longer main-
tain the charade — who else could it have
been? — and their laughter emerged,
thunderous and harsh. I returned to my
sleeping bag, pretending I wasn’t embar-
rassed. By morning, I was praising the
ingenuity of their prank.
Years after the shaving-cream inci-
dent, my paternal grandfather stopped
speaking to me because I told him to
not be a jerk to a waitress; I eventually
wrote a deferential letter of reconcilia-
tion, unwilling to let our shared griev-
ances fester. By then it had become
a habit: I sidestepped grudges like a
superstitious child skipping over cracks
in the sidewalk.Grudges
By Alex McElroy
But at some point I began to fi nd
enjoyment, even solace, in holding a
grudge. I have a grudge against an author
who subtweeted me after I requested
a blurb; I have a grudge against Vince
Carter for forcing his way off the Toron-
to Raptors; I have a grudge against the
shelf that keeps bonking me in the head.
A month ago, Uber Eats emailed me a
coupon code that didn’t work. When I
brought this to their attention, I was told
they couldn’t refund my money. Years
ago, I would have taken my loss and kept1.23.I began to
find enjoyment,
even solace,
in holding a grudge.Letter of Recommendation