Let’s be honest, we’ve all been there. Standing in your pajamas, desperately Googling “Why is my Monstera drooping?” at 2 a.m., convinced you’ve somehow failed at the one thing that’s supposed to be easy: keeping a plant alive.
But lately, with Bartholomew (yes, my ZZ plant has a name, don’t judge me!), it’s been more than just the usual plant parent paranoia. There’s a certain…look he gives me sometimes. One that makes me think he’s silently judging every single one of my life choices.
The Case of the Crumbling Cookie
It started innocently enough. I was enjoying a late-night snack – a giant, double-chocolate chunk cookie – when a few crumbs tragically met their demise on the carpet. Look, I was going to get them later, okay? Everyone knows crumbs are basically invisible after 10 p.m. anyway.
But as I glanced up, I caught Bartholomew‘s gaze. Or at least, what I imagine his gaze would be if he, you know, had eyes. He seemed to be leaning slightly towards the fallen crumbs, his leaves rustling disapprovingly in the non-existent breeze.
The next morning, I woke up to find Bartholomew positively glowing in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. He practically radiated smugness. Meanwhile, the dishes hadn’t magically washed themselves overnight (shocker, I know). I swear I even heard a faint, “Procrastination, huh? Classic.” whispered on the wind. Okay, maybe not, but you can’t tell me you haven’t heard your plants talking to you either.