We’ve all been there. You’re curled up on the couch, halfway through a bag of chips, binging a reality TV show you swore you’d never watch, when suddenly you feel a presence. You turn, and there it is: your houseplant, silently staring.
Okay, maybe “staring” is a strong word. But there’s something about the way its leaves droop just so, or the angle of its stem, that makes you feel like it’s silently judging your entire existence.
When My Fiddle Leaf Fig Took Sides in My Breakup
My journey into the secretly judgmental world of houseplants began with Ferdinand, my fiddle leaf fig. Now, Ferdinand is a drama queen. He requires more attention than a toddler with a tiara and a penchant for public meltdowns. He needs the perfect amount of light, the perfect amount of humidity, and God forbid I forget to water him on a Tuesday.
My Succulent’s Not So Subtle Spending Shame
You’d think a succulent, of all plants, would be chill. Low-maintenance, right? Wrong. My succulent, Steve (yes, I name my plants, don’t judge me), is the master of the side-eye.
Last year, I went through a phase. A “treat yourself” phase, which, in retrospect, should have come with a financial advisor and a therapist on speed dial. New clothes? Ordered. Takeout every night? You bet. Saving for a down payment? What’s that?
Steve, throughout this period of reckless abandon, remained stoic. But I saw it. The subtle shift in his pot, the way his leaves seemed to purse together in disapproval. It was like he was thinking, “You’re going to be eating ramen for the next year, aren’t you?”