Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me
The Side-Eye Heard ‘Round the Living Room
I swear it happened. I was sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a true-crime documentary marathon (don’t judge, we all have our vices), when I caught it. A flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. My head snapped up, heart pounding like I’d just witnessed a crime myself, only to find…Stanley. My peace lily. Just chilling on the windowsill.
Except, he wasn’t just chilling, was he? No, Stanley was turned ever so slightly away from the window, his one perfect white bloom angled towards me. Like a disapproving aunt at a family gathering, I could practically hear him thinking, “Another Tuesday night spent with fictional serial killers, Susan? Shouldn’t you be…I don’t know…working on your novel like you always say?”
Okay, maybe I was projecting. But ever since that night, I’ve become increasingly convinced that Stanley is judging me. And I’m not alone. A quick poll of my friends (read: frantic 3 am text thread) revealed that I’m not the only one who suspects their leafy roommates are privy to their deepest, darkest secrets (and questionable life choices).
Exhibit A: The Wilting Guilt Trip
We’ve all been there. You forget to water your plant for, oh, just a week (or two…okay, maybe a month, but life gets busy!), and suddenly your once vibrant monstera is drooping lower than your spirits after a bad Tinder date.
