Confessions of a Serial Plant Killer
Let’s be honest, I never thought I’d be that person. You know, the one with shelves overflowing with greenery, who sniffs the soil like a sommelier assessing a fine wine. In fact, my thumbs were about as brown as my morning coffee. My track record with plants was less than stellar—let’s just say I could make even a cactus cry.
Then, something shifted. Maybe it was the pandemic, maybe it was a yearning for a connection with nature, or maybe it was just the irresistible allure of those tiny terracotta pots at the local market. Whatever it was, I was drawn in, seduced by the promise of bringing a little bit of the outdoors into my humble abode.
My First Plant Tragedy: RIP Simon the Succulent
Simon seemed like the perfect starter plant. A low-maintenance, drought-tolerant, desert-dwelling dude. What could go wrong? I imagined him thriving on my windowsill, soaking up the sunbeams like a tiny green lizard.
Turns out, I underestimated my own destructive capabilities. I overwatered him. I repotted him in the wrong soil. I even tried to befriend a spider plant that I thought looked lonely (Simon was not impressed). In the end, my poor succulent succumbed to my well-intentioned but ultimately fatal affections. RIP Simon. You were too good for this world (or at least, for my windowsill).
