We’ve all been there. You’re going about your day, maybe in your pajamas at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday, shoveling leftover takeout into your face, when you suddenly lock eyes with…it. Your plant. And in that moment, you just know. It’s judging you.
My Fiddle Leaf Fig and the Cat: A Conspiracy of Silence
Okay, maybe “judging” is a strong word. But let me tell you about Brenda (my majestic fiddle leaf fig, obviously) and Mr. Whiskers (my infuriatingly smug feline). One morning, I was running late for work (shocker, I know) and accidentally stepped on Mr. Whiskers’ tail. The ensuing yowl could have woken the dead. Did I apologize profusely and offer cuddles as compensation? No. I grumbled something about “dramatic furballs” and dashed out the door.
When I returned home, defeated and craving pizza, I noticed something strange. Brenda, who usually greets me with a perky leaf or two, was decidedly droopy. Mr. Whiskers, meanwhile, was lounging nearby, basking in the sunbeam that usually graced Brenda’s leaves. Coincidence? I think not. It was like they had conspired against me, silently judging my less-than-stellar pet parent skills.
My suspicions about Brenda’s judgmental tendencies were further solidified during a particularly stressful week. Work deadlines? Check. Relationship drama? Check. Questionable life choices documented on social media? Check, check, check. As my anxiety levels soared, my once-thriving peace lily, Ferdinand, took a turn for the worse. Its vibrant green leaves drooped, turning an alarming shade of yellow.
Now, I’m no botanist, but I’m pretty sure peace lilies aren’t known for their empathy skills. Yet, there Ferdinand was, mirroring my emotional state with alarming accuracy. It was as if it was saying, “Look, I’m a symbol of peace and tranquility, and even I can’t handle this much chaos.”
The Silent Treatment: My Succulent Is Not Impressed
If you thought wilting was the extent of my plants’ passive-aggressive repertoire, think again. Oh no, they have other, more insidious methods. Take, for instance, Steve, my stoic succulent. Steve, unlike his dramatic counterparts, prefers to communicate his disapproval through the art of…silence. Or, more accurately, the lack of growth.
While my other plant friends seem to sprout new leaves and stems with every passing week, Steve remains unchanged. He’s been the same size, the same shape, with the same prickly demeanor for months. It’s as if he’s frozen in time, silently judging my every move. Is he judging my questionable taste in reality TV? My inability to keep a houseplant alive for more than six months? The world may never know. But one thing’s for sure: Steve is not impressed.