The Side-Eye Heard ‘Round the Living Room
It happened again this morning. You know that feeling when you’re scarfing down leftover pizza for breakfast, still in your pajamas at noon, and you glance up to meet the judgmental gaze of… your houseplant? No, just me?
Okay, maybe “judgmental” is a strong word. But ever since I brought home Herbert (yes, my monstera deliciosa has a name, don’t judge me), I swear he’s been silently critiquing my every move. And let me tell you, Herbert has seen some things.
Herbert is a dramatic dude. Forget subtly drooping – when he’s thirsty, his leaves practically scream for a drink. So imagine my guilt when I finally remembered to water him after, oh, a week (or two?) of forgetting.
As I poured the life-giving liquid into his pot, I swear I heard a heavy sigh. Okay, maybe it was the wind. But the way his leaves perked up immediately after? Pure passive-aggressive plant energy, I tell you.
My Houseplant Judges Me: Exhibit B – The Great Plant Rotation Debacle
Light, we all need it. But apparently, finding the perfect sunbeam for a houseplant is akin to solving a Rubik’s cube blindfolded. I’ve rotated Herbert more times than I can count, searching for that sweet spot between “sunburnt crisp” and “living in perpetual darkness.”
Each time I move him, I swear I hear a disgruntled rustle. And those new leaves he’s been sprouting? They always seem to face away from me, as if to say, “Seriously? Again with the relocation program? Just pick a spot and stick with it, woman!”