Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into My Monstera‘s Mind
The Side-Eye Heard ‘Round the Living Room
It happened again this morning. I was, let’s just say, not looking my finest. You know, the post-sleep hair, mismatched pajamas, pre-coffee haze kind of morning. As I stumbled past my Monstera, Monty for short, I swear I saw it. A slight shift of its largest leaf, a subtle turn towards the window, and that unmistakable vibe that screamed, “Seriously, Sharon? This is how you live your life?”
Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic. But ever since Monty sprouted its third new leaf this spring, I’ve been convinced it’s developed something of a judgmental streak. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy (plant?). But sometimes, just sometimes, I feel like I’m living under the watchful, leafy gaze of a botanical Supreme Court judge.
Look, I get it. Plants need water. But was that dramatic sigh really necessary, Monty? Couldn’t we have just moved on with our lives? Apparently not. The memory of that disappointed droop still haunts me (and probably fuels my occasional overwatering, but that’s a story for another day).
Exhibit B: The Great Takeout Container Debacle
We’ve all been there. It’s been a long day, you’re exhausted, and the last thing you want to do is cook. So, you order takeout. Again. And maybe you leave the empty containers on the counter a little longer than you should. Okay, maybe a lot longer.
Well, one morning, as I was finally tackling the leaning tower of takeout containers, I caught Monty’s reflection in the window. Or rather, what I perceived as a reflection of my own shame staring back at me. It felt like Monty, with its perfectly positioned leaves and air of quiet dignity, was silently judging my less-than-perfect culinary habits.
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