We’ve all been there. You know, staring into the abyss of a pint of ice cream at midnight, wondering where it all went wrong. But for me, that existential dread hit its peak last Tuesday, not while staring at a pint of Chunky Monkey, but at Gerald. Yes, Gerald, my peace lily.
The Side-Eye Heard ‘Round the Living Room
It was a Tuesday, like I said, and I was in my typical Tuesday uniform: mismatched pajamas and yesterday’s mascara. I’d just polished off a bag of microwave popcorn for dinner (don’t judge, Gerald!), when I caught his eye. Or rather, what I swear was a very pointed side-eye.
Gerald, with his perky leaves and perfect posture, seemed to radiate an air of judgment that could curdle milk. It was as if he was saying, “Microwave popcorn again, Sharon? Really?”
![[IMAGE_DESCRIPTION: Humorous photo of a droopy plant next to a laptop with a spreadsheet open]](https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1501004318641-b39e6451bec6?crop=entropy&cs=tinysrgb&fit=max&fm=jpg&ixid=M3w3MTgzMjV8MHwxfHNlYXJjaHwxfHxIdW1vcm91cyUyMHBob3RvJTIwb2YlMjBhJTIwZHJvb3B5JTIwcGxhbnQlMjBuZXh0JTIwdG8lMjBhJTIwbGFwdG9wJTIwd2l0aCUyMGElMjBzcHJlYWRzaGVldCUyMG9wZW58ZW58MHwwfHx8MTc0MzEwODAyNXww&ixlib=rb-4.0.3&q=80&w=1080)