Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant Is Judging My Life Choices
We’ve all been there, right? Staring at a pile of dirty dishes after a late night out, knowing you have to be up early for work, and feeling a pair of eyes on you. But in my case, it’s not my conscience (or my cat, who’s usually thrilled by my late-night snacking habits) doing the judging. It’s Bartholomew, my peace lily.
The Side-Eye, a Love Story
I wouldn’t call myself a plant expert, but I’m not exactly a plant murderer either. Bartholomew came into my life as a birthday gift, a symbol of growth and prosperity (or so the well-wisher claimed). At first, it was all sunshine and organic fertilizer. I watered him diligently, dusted his leaves, even serenaded him with Mozart (don’t judge, he seemed to enjoy it).
Then life happened. Deadlines piled up, social engagements multiplied, and my meticulously crafted watering schedule went out the window. And that’s when the side-eye started. You know the one – the subtle tilt of the leaves, the slight droop that somehow seems accusatory. It’s like Bartholomew is saying, “Really, Brenda? Another takeout container? You know I thrive on routine.”
The Case of the Wilting Leaf
Things came to a head last week. I’d just spent the weekend binge-watching reality TV instead of tackling my to-do list (or, you know, repotting Bartholomew, as I’d promised). Monday morning, I stumbled into the living room, bleary-eyed and caffeine-deprived, to find one of Bartholomew’s leaves drooping dramatically.
Panic! Was it a draft? Spider mites? My complete lack of responsibility as a plant parent? I rushed to Bartholomew’s side, whispering apologies and promises of a more consistent watering schedule. As I straightened his pot, I swear I heard a sigh. Okay, maybe it was the wind, but still. The judgment was palpable.
The Verdict: Guilty as Charged (Maybe?)
Look, maybe I’m projecting. Maybe Bartholomew is just a plant, reacting to changes in his environment in the only way he knows how. But there’s a part of me that can’t shake the feeling that he’s onto me. That he knows about the late-night online shopping sprees and the fact that I haven’t changed my bedsheets in two weeks.
Or maybe, just maybe, Bartholomew’s silent judgment is a good thing. A gentle (and leafy) nudge to get my act together, to prioritize self-care and, you know, maybe water my plants once in a while.