The Eyebrow Raise Heard ‘Round the Living Room
I swear it happened. I was sprawled on the couch, shamelessly devouring a bag of chips (okay, fine, the entire family-sized bag), when I caught a glimpse of Oswald, my prized fiddle-leaf fig. He usually stands tall and proud, his leaves a vibrant emerald green. But in that moment, as I licked cheesy dust off my fingers, one of his leaves seemed to…droop. It was almost imperceptible, but I saw it. It was like an eyebrow raise of disapproval, a silent judgment of my questionable life choices.
Take last week, for example. I was swamped with deadlines, surviving on coffee and sheer willpower. Did I forget to water Oswald? Maybe. Was it an oversight of epic proportions, considering I pride myself on being a plant parent extraordinaire? Absolutely. But the way he dramatically wilted, leaves drooping like a Shakespearean actor in mourning, seemed a tad excessive. I’m pretty sure he waited until I was on an important video call, the picture of professional composure, before choosing that exact moment to stage his botanical meltdown. The timing was impeccable, and dare I say, a little passive-aggressive.
Sun, Water, and Side-Eye?
It’s not just the wilting, either. I swear Oswald strategically positions his leaves to catch me in compromising positions. Leaving dirty dishes in the sink overnight? BAM! A leaf blocks my reflection in the window, forcing me to confront my slovenly ways. Scrolling through social media instead of tackling the laundry pile? A strategically angled leaf casts a shadow that looks suspiciously like a disapproving headshake.
Look, I know it’s ridiculous. Plants don’t judge. They don’t have the cognitive capacity for such complex emotions. But tell that to Oswald, who seems to communicate his disdain through a complex system of leaf angles and wilting variations.
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