Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (The Evidence is Compelling)
We’ve all been there. You’re scrolling through Instagram, mainlining perfectly curated lives filled with sourdough bread baking and aspirational yoga poses, and suddenly you lock eyes with…him. Your houseplant.
The Side-Eye Heard ‘Round the Living Room
It all started innocently enough. I, like many during the dark days of 2020, decided to become a “plant parent.” I envisioned a verdant paradise, overflowing with lush greenery. I’d be one of those effortlessly cool plant people who could tell you the difference between a philodendron and a fiddle-leaf fig without Googling it.
Fast forward three years, and let’s just say the reality is…different. My once-promising spider plant, affectionately named Gerald, now resembles something out of a Tim Burton film. His once-vibrant leaves are brown and crispy at the edges. He leans precariously towards the window, as if desperate for an escape route.
But as I diligently scrolled past images of thriving monsteras and perfectly propagated succulents, a horrifying thought occurred to me: Gerald was judging me.
Exhibit B: The Repotting Debacle of 2023
It was time, I reluctantly admitted, to repot Gerald. He’d been sending out desperate tendrils, searching for more space in his cramped plastic prison. I purchased a bag of soil (on sale, I might add) and a new pot. I was feeling confident, almost…proud.
Reader, it was a disaster.
I managed to spill more soil on myself than in the pot, and at one point, I’m fairly certain Gerald whispered, “Just put me out of my misery,” in a weary voice.