We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled out on the couch, three episodes deep into a true-crime documentary, a half-eaten bag of chips resting precariously on your stomach. You glance up, and for a fleeting moment, you swear your Monstera is giving you the side-eye.
When My Fiddle Leaf Fig Almost Called Social Services
Okay, maybe “judging” is a strong word. But let me tell you about Brenda, my notoriously dramatic Fiddle Leaf Fig. I’d just spent the better part of a Saturday morning trying to revive a batch of sourdough starter that had gone rogue (RIP, Stanley the Starter). Flour dusted every surface, and my frustration levels were reaching new heights.
That’s when I noticed Brenda. Or rather, Brenda’s leaves, which had drooped so dramatically they were practically doing a theatrical interpretation of despair.
But as I cleaned the floury carnage, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Brenda was judging my every move. Was it the sourdough massacre? My questionable choice of sweatpants? I’m pretty sure she even flinched when I cranked up the Britney Spears.
The Evidence: My Case Against My Plant Children
Since the “Brenda Incident,” I’ve become acutely aware of my houseplants’ subtle (and not-so-subtle) reactions to my life choices. Here’s what I’ve observed:
- The “I can’t believe you’re watering me with THAT” glare: My peace lily, Gertrude, shoots me this look every time I try to water her with the leftover water from my pasta pot. Apparently, lukewarm, starchy water isn’t her preferred beverage. The audacity!
- The “Are you ever going to repot me?” sigh: My snake plant, Steve (yes, I name my plants), has been living in the same pot for far too long. He hasn’t quite mastered the art of sighing, but his leaves are starting to look a little cramped, like he’s silently pleading for an upgrade.
- The “Please, just one less Instagram photo” eye roll: Let’s be honest, we’re all guilty of this one. But when I catch a glimpse of my ZZ plant, Zelda, as I’m staging the perfect plant selfie, I swear I see a flicker of annoyance.
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