Dave and I caught up with a couple of old friends this weekend. As we recounted our most salient experiences during the pandemic, my friend confessed she and her husband were really aggravating each other in the beginning. Thrust as many of us were into suddenly being around our significant others non-stop, they each cited a number of pet peeves that became unavoidably omnipresent: she left water cups on every surface of the house, his typing was unforgivably loud.

As they realized their communication was reduced to not much beyond nagging and irritating each other, they came up with an idea: they would jointly blame Chad, their new imaginary roommate who was the real culprit of all of these recurring offenses. It wasn’t her, but Chad who couldn’t keep track of just 1 water cup. And they’d be fine to work in close proximity if not for Chad’s obnoxiously loud typing habits. Suddenly they were on the same page — and laughing about it.

Not only is this brilliant marital advice, but it’s also a bit of a relief. After all, I have long felt guilty that I have a large box of maternity clothes — which I no longer wear or need — taking up valuable floor space in our bedroom, but it turns out it was Chad’s fault all along.