From Green Thumb to Green Guilt Trip
Let’s be honest, I haven’t always been the best plant parent. I’ve accidentally drowned succulents with over-enthusiasm, forgotten to water ferns into crispy oblivion, and once, in a moment of sheer botanical negligence, managed to sunburn a cactus. (Don’t ask.) But recently, my guilt over past planty transgressions has taken a turn for the weird—because I’m now convinced my current houseplant is judging me.
It started subtly. I’d be sprawled on the couch, binge-watching reality TV in my pajamas, and catch a glimpse of my monstera deliciosa out of the corner of my eye. Its leaves seemed to be angled just so, like it was peering down its stem at me with an air of “Really? This is how you spend your day?”
At first, I dismissed it as paranoia. Plants don’t judge, right? They just… exist. Photosynthesize. Maybe occasionally sprout a new leaf to passive-aggressively remind you to repot them. But the feeling persisted. Every time I reached for another slice of pizza, or let laundry pile up into a Mount Washmore of shame, I’d swear I felt a silent judgment radiating from the corner of the room where my plant resided.
The Wilting Glare of Plant Disapproval?
Things escalated last week when I brought home a questionable takeout choice (deep-fried everything, don’t judge me… or actually, maybe my plant already is). As I unwrapped my burger, I swear my plant’s leaves did a dramatic droop.
Okay, maybe not dramatic. But there was definitely a noticeable wilt. Like it was visually expressing its disappointment in my life choices through the medium of subtle foliage manipulation.