The Side-Eye That Started It All
I swear it started with a side-eye. You know, that slow, almost imperceptible turn of the head that says, “Are you serious right now?” I was brushing crumbs off my shirt (don’t judge, it was a particularly delicious croissant), when I caught a glimpse of Beatrice, my majestic Monstera Deliciosa, seemingly glaring at me.
Okay, maybe I was projecting. But ever since that day, I’ve been hyper-aware of Beatrice‘s presence, convinced she’s silently critiquing my life choices. And honestly, who can blame her? Plants have seen it all. They’ve witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations, the invention of the spork, the utter chaos of a Monday morning. They’re basically wise, silent observers of the human condition.
Naturally, I panicked. I showered her with apologies, poured an entire gallon of water into the pot (overwatering? Who, me?), and even sang her a little diddy about how much I care. As I frantically googled “how to revive a dying plant,” I could practically hear Beatrice sighing, “Amateurs.”
Exhibit B: The Stubborn Growth Spurt (Or Lack Thereof)
Then there’s the issue of her growth (or lack thereof). I’ve tried everything to encourage a good growth spurt: classical music, pep talks, even whispering sweet nothings about photosynthesis. But Beatrice remains stubbornly…compact. Meanwhile, my friend’s fiddle leaf fig, which she affectionately calls “Phil” and treats with the same level of care as a pet rock, is practically taking over her living room.
I’m convinced Beatrice is doing this on purpose. She’s staging a silent protest against my questionable plant-parenting skills. It’s like she’s saying, “I refuse to thrive in this environment of inconsistency and questionable taste in throw pillows.”