We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a reality TV marathon you swore you wouldn’t watch, when suddenly… you feel it. A presence. You glance around, heart skipping a beat, and your eyes land on the leafy resident in the corner. Your houseplant. And you can’t shake the feeling that it’s… judging you.
My Fiddle Leaf Fig Took My Cat’s Side (I Have Proof)
Look, I love Horatio (my majestic fiddle leaf fig, not the cat, whose name is Mr. Whiskers). He’s the closest thing I have to a green thumb. But recently, I swear our relationship has soured. It all started when Mr. Whiskers, in a truly uncharacteristic display of athleticism, scaled a bookshelf and gnawed on one of Horatio’s prized leaves.
Did Horatio wilt dramatically? Did he shed a single leaf in despair? No! He stood there, stoic and leafy, while I panicked, frantically Googling “cat ate fiddle leaf fig TOXIC?!”
My Peace Lily Knows When I Haven’t Paid the Bills
Then there’s my peace lily, Petunia. Now, Petunia is a drama queen. She wilts if you look at her funny. But one week, her dramatics reached a whole new level. I’m talking droopy leaves, slumping stems, the whole nine yards.
I tried everything. Extra water? Check. Plant food? Check. Singing her a soothing lullaby? Check (don’t judge, it’s a thing). Nothing worked. Finally, after days of Petunia’s theatrical suffering, I sat down to pay my bills, a task I’d been diligently avoiding. And wouldn’t you know it, as soon as I hit “submit payment,” Petunia perked up.
Coincidence? I think not. It was like she was saying, “Sharon, get your financial life together! You’re stressing us both out!”
Even My Succulents Are Judging Me (Yes, Really)
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “But Sharon, what about your succulents? They thrive on neglect!” And you’d be right. My succulent collection is the picture of health. They practically vibrate with smug satisfaction, especially Steve, my largest echeveria.
The evidence is compelling, isn’t it? But maybe, just maybe, I’m reading too much into things. Maybe my plants are just… plants. Or maybe, just maybe, they’re the silent observers to our messy, chaotic lives, offering silent commentary in the form of wilting leaves and perky blooms. What do you think? Do your plants judge your life choices?