
It started in April 2020. The two-week quarantine had become over a month in quarantine. Endless hours stuck in the same space, not able to leave, not able to go out.
We were irritated and irritable.
Everything was annoying both of us about the other. We just needed and wanted some space, but that wasn’t possible, so we made up "Rick," an imaginary person to blame things on.
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When I walked into the bathroom and saw the toilet seat up again, I said, "Honey, Rick left the toilet seat up again!"
"That asshole! He really needs to get it together," he called back.
While before I might have been annoyed and huffy, instead I was laughing.
"Damn right, he does!" I said.
"Did Rick call and make that doctor’s appointment?" he asked.
I grimaced. "No, he forgot again. I’ll do it today."
"F**king Rick, right?" my husband said back.
"F**king Rick," I repeated.
"Rick" became a way to lighten up the mood. He’s like the shitty co-worker we could both rag on, a common enemy. Us against Rick, instead of us against each other.