From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent
Okay, let’s be real. For years, my thumbs were about as green as a lump of coal. I’m talking cactus-killing, succulent-slaying, you-name-it-I-probably-managed-to-accidentally-murder-it levels of plant neglect.
It all started with a well-intentioned peace lily from a dear friend (RIP, Lily). Then came a parade of ferns, philodendrons, and even a valiant attempt at growing herbs (spoiler alert: pesto made from store-bought basil just hits different). Each time, I swore I’d do better, but the results were always the same: droopy leaves, suspicious smells, and a pang of guilt that could only be soothed by ordering takeout (because clearly, I couldn’t be trusted to keep anything alive, let alone cook with it).
But then, something magical happened. Or rather, something sprouted.
