We’ve all been there. You’re scarfing down cold pizza at 2 am, scrolling through your ex’s Instagram, and suddenly you lock eyes with your houseplant. You know, that silent, leafy observer who’s witnessed your every triumph and, let’s be honest, mostly tribulations? Yeah, THAT one. And in that moment, you just KNOW. They’re judging you.
The Incident That Sparked My Plant-Judging Paranoia
It all began innocently enough. I’d treated myself to a gorgeous, supposedly low-maintenance Calathea. I named him Ferdinand, because obviously, he exuded an air of regality. For the first few weeks, it was pure bliss. Ferdinand unfurled new leaves like he was auditioning for a plant commercial, and I, the proud plant parent, basked in the reflected glory.
Then came The Incident. I’d had a particularly rough day – missed deadline, spilled coffee on my only clean shirt, the whole shebang. Drained and defeated, I flopped onto the couch, ignoring Ferdinand‘s usual evening watering schedule. The next morning, I was met with the plant equivalent of the silent treatment. Ferdinand had gone full-on drama queen, leaves drooping lower than my self-esteem after that disastrous Zoom meeting.
