Let’s be honest, we’ve all been there. Staring into the abyss of a pint of ice cream at 2 am, questioning our life choices. But for me, that moment of existential dread didn’t come from a late-night sugar rush. It came from Brenda, my previously thriving peace lily.
The Droop Heard ‘Round the Apartment
It was a Tuesday, I think. Days tend to blur together when you’re in an existential crisis. I was sprawled on the couch, attempting to convince myself that rewatching the entirety of “Friends” for the fifth time counted as self-care.
Now, I’m no botanist, but I know a cry for help when I see one. I ran through the mental checklist:
- Watered recently? Check.
- Enough sunlight? Check. Brenda practically had a timeshare on the windowsill.
- Secretly replaced with a plastic replica by a mischievous roommate? Unlikely, considering I live alone.
Confused and slightly concerned (for Brenda, not my dwindling social life), I did what any self-respecting millennial would do: I Googled it.
Google, My Therapist, and the Secret Language of Plants
Hours later, after a deep dive into the world of online plant forums, I emerged, bleary-eyed and more confused than before. According to the internet, Brenda wasn’t just thirsty; she was disappointed. Apparently, peace lilies are sensitive souls, known to wilt in the presence of negativity.
Suddenly, it all made sense. The pile of unopened mail threatening to engulf my coffee table? Negative. The half-written novel gathering dust on my laptop? Major negativity vibes. My diet consisting primarily of instant ramen and questionable leftovers? Brenda was judging me, and honestly, she had every right to.