We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a reality TV marathon you swore you’d never watch, and you catch a glimpse of your usually chipper peace lily. Only, it doesn’t look so chipper anymore, does it? No, it’s giving you that slow, wilting head-shake that screams, “Seriously? This is how you spend your precious time?”.
My Cactus‘s Silent Protest
My journey into the secretly judgmental world of houseplants began with Harold, my prickly pear cactus. Now, Harold was a low-maintenance guy, content with a sunny spot and the occasional watering. Or so I thought. One day, I returned home after a particularly questionable decision involving karaoke and a questionable amount of tequila, to find Harold had taken a tumble.
Once, after a week of surviving on takeout and ignoring my mounting to-do list, Fiona staged a full-blown intervention. I’m talking a leaf-pocalypse of epic proportions. It was like she was trying to spell out “GET YOUR LIFE TOGETHER” in dead fern fronds. Message received, Fiona. Loud and clear.
The Succulent Side-Eye
Let’s not forget about Simon, my stoic succulent. Simon is a master of the subtle side-eye. You know the look: that barely perceptible tilt of the leaves that seems to say, “Are you sure about that?” with a healthy dose of disappointment.
I once caught Simon throwing shade my way as I scrolled through endless photos of perfectly curated lives on social media. It was like he was reminding me that real life happens outside the perfectly filtered squares on my phone screen.