The Side-Eye Heard ‘Round the Living Room
It all started with a withering glance. Okay, maybe “glance” is a strong word for something that doesn’t technically have eyes. But I swear, as I was shoveling takeout noodles into my mouth last Tuesday (don’t judge, it was a long day!), my normally chipper peace lily was giving me serious side-eye. You know the look—the one your grandma gives you when you reach for another cookie.
Now, I’m a rational person. I understand that plants don’t possess the complex emotional range to judge anyone, let alone their caretakers. But something about the way its leaves drooped, coupled with the dramatic yellowing of its once vibrant green tips, felt distinctly accusatory. Like it was silently screaming, “This is what happens when you forget to water me for a week, Brenda!”
Let’s just say Dave did not take it well.
He went from jungle-worthy to desert-dry faster than a Kardashian marriage. Every time I walked by, his brittle fronds seemed to rustle in the breeze (or maybe it was the air conditioning?) like a chorus of disapproving whispers. “Neglect! Abandonment! Where’s the plant food, Brenda?”
Okay, so maybe I was projecting a little. But you can’t tell me I’m the only one who feels a twinge of guilt when their plant starts looking like it lost a cage match with a weed whacker.