Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: funny plant stories

  • Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Join the Club)

    Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Join the Club)




    Confessions of a Reformed Plant Killer (and Why You Should Join the Club)


    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Let’s be honest, I wasn’t always a friend to flora. In fact, I had a bit of a reputation as a plant assassin. My thumbs weren’t just black, they were practically shrouded in a dark, wilting aura. My past victims? A jade plant that mysteriously turned to mush, a peace lily that looked anything but peaceful, and a cactus (a CACTUS!) that somehow withered under my care. It was a dark time.

    But then, something changed. Maybe it was a global pandemic that forced me to stare at my bleak, plant-less apartment for months on end. Maybe it was a sudden urge to nurture something other than my sourdough starter. Whatever the reason, I decided to give plant parenthood another shot. And let me tell you, it’s been a wild, hilarious, and surprisingly fulfilling ride.

    Plant Parenting: Wins, Fails, and Funny Stories

    Of course, no journey to plant parenthood is complete without its fair share of mishaps and comedic moments. I’ve learned the hard way that overwatering is a thing (RIP, my second attempt at a peace lily). I’ve also had my fair share of battles with pesky fungus gnats (those little guys are persistent!).

    But through it all, I’ve discovered that even plant parenting failures can be learning experiences (and great stories to tell at parties). Like the time I accidentally knocked over my prized monstera while trying to take a selfie with it (don’t judge me). Or the time I spent an entire afternoon trying to revive a droopy fern, only to realize I had been watering a fake plant for weeks (facepalm).

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me (and Other Weird Habits I’ve Developed)

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me (and Other Weird Habits I’ve Developed)

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me (and Other Weird Habits I’ve Developed)

    From Plant Killer to Paranoid Plant Parent

    Remember that time I accidentally killed a cactus? Yeah, I know, rookie mistake. You’d think succulents were hard to kill, but somehow I managed it. Fast forward to today, and I’m now the proud (and slightly neurotic) parent of fifteen thriving houseplants. And let me tell you, the transformation has been…weird.

    It all started subtly. I’d find myself talking to my peace lily, Phil. Just casual things, like, “Morning, Phil, looking perky today!” or “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll water you soon.” Harmless, right? But then things escalated…

    The Side-Eye from Fernie: My Houseplant’s Silent Judgment

    It’s Fernie, my majestic Boston fern, who I suspect is the mastermind behind my descent into plant-induced madness. He sits there on his pedestal (okay, it’s a plant stand, but still), fronds cascading down like a green waterfall, and I swear he watches my every move.

    Like, the other day, I was stress-eating leftover pizza at 2 AM. As I shamelessly shoved the last cold slice into my mouth, I caught Fernie’s reflection in the window. And you know what? I swear he rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe it was just the breeze, but the judgment was palpable.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into Plant-Based Side Eye

    Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into Plant-Based Side Eye



    My Fiddle Leaf Fig Swooned (In Disgust?)

    We’ve all been there. You know, that moment when you’re scarfing down leftover pizza in your pajamas at 2 PM on a Tuesday, and you catch a glimpse of your houseplant. It’s just sitting there, silently soaking up the sun… or is it judging your questionable life choices?

    I swear, my fiddle leaf fig, Ferdinand, fainted dead away last week when I accidentally watered him with the remnants of my cold brew (don’t judge me, it was a Monday!). One minute he was standing tall and proud, the next he was dramatically drooping like he’d just witnessed a crime against nature.

    Which, let’s be honest, he kind of did. But still! Ferdinand’s dramatic reaction got me thinking… are our houseplants secretly judging us?

  • Why I’m Convinced My Plant Is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Plant Is Secretly Judging Me




    Why I’m Convinced My Plant Is Secretly Judging Me


    The Mystery of the Droopy Leaves

    We’ve all been there. You’re having a particularly rough day, the kind where you spill coffee on your favorite shirt and trip up the stairs, only to be greeted by a chorus of wilted leaves from your usually perky peace lily. It’s like it knew.

    At first, I brushed it off. “It’s just a plant,” I told myself, misting its dramatically drooping foliage. But as the weeks went by, I started noticing a pattern. A pattern that, dare I say, suggested a level of silent judgment that would put even the most disapproving aunt to shame.

    Plant Knows When I’m Stressed (and Judges Me Accordingly)

    Take last Tuesday, for instance. I was having a heated phone conversation with my internet provider (let’s just say patience isn’t their strong suit). As my frustration mounted, I paced around my living room, gesturing wildly with the phone cord (yes, I still have a landline, don’t judge!).

    Mid-rant, I caught a glimpse of my previously chipper spider plant. Its leaves, which were happily reaching towards the ceiling just moments before, were now engaged in a dramatic downward spiral. It was as if the plant itself had sighed and muttered, “Here we go again…”

    Coincidence? I think not.

    The Watering Can Stare-Down: A Plant’s Guilt Trip

    Then there’s the whole watering situation. You know that look your dog gives you when you’re about to indulge in a particularly delicious-smelling snack? The one that’s a mix of longing, hope, and just a hint of accusation?

    My plant has perfected that look.

    Every time I approach with the watering can, it seems to straighten up a bit, leaves perking up ever so slightly. But if I dare wait a day or two past its preferred watering schedule? Forget about it. I’m subjected to a full-on botanical guilt trip, complete with dramatic leaf drooping and, I swear, an audible sigh (or maybe that’s just the wind whistling through the drafty windowsill?).

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    The Side-Eye Started on Day One

    Let’s be real, we’ve all been there. You bring home a beautiful new houseplant, all vibrant green and full of life. You give it a prime spot by the window, whisper words of encouragement (don’t judge), and dream of the lush oasis it will become. But then… it happens. You catch it. That subtle, yet unmistakable side-eye. The one that seems to say, “Really? This is the best you could do?”

    That’s how it all started with Phil, my majestic (and apparently judgmental) Monstera Deliciosa. From the moment I brought him home, I could sense a certain… disapproval emanating from his leafy appendages. Maybe it was the chipped pot I’d temporarily placed him in. Or perhaps he’d overheard me humming off-key while watering him (okay, it was definitely off-key). Whatever the reason, I was convinced Phil was judging my every move.

    Phil, oh Phil, he has a knack for drama. Let me forget to water him for a mere 24 hours and his leaves droop lower than my motivation on a Monday morning. And it’s not just a subtle wilt, mind you. We’re talking a full-on theatrical performance of botanical despair.

    At first, I panicked. Was he getting enough light? Did I overwater? Was it something I said?! Then, it hit me. The strategic droop. A calculated maneuver designed to induce guilt and ensure my swift return to plant-parent duties. Clever girl… I mean, plant.

    Exhibit B: The Curious Case of the Growth Spurt

    Here’s where things get really interesting. A few weeks ago, I was having a particularly stressful day. Deadlines loomed, my inbox resembled a black hole, and I may or may not have stress-eaten an entire bag of chips (don’t judge, Phil!). Feeling defeated, I slumped onto the couch, muttering to myself about the unfairness of it all. That’s when I noticed it.

    Phil had sprouted a new leaf. A big, beautiful, vibrant green leaf. It was as if he was saying, “Get a grip, human. I’ve seen worse.” Or maybe, “See, this is what happens when you finally clean this dusty living room.” Either way, the timing was suspect. Coincidence? I think not.

  • Is My Houseplant Secretly Judging Me? (The Evidence is Compelling)

    Is My Houseplant Secretly Judging Me? (The Evidence is Compelling)



    Is My Houseplant Secretly Judging Me? (The Evidence Is Compelling)

    We all have them, those little moments of self-doubt. But lately, mine have been amplified by a pair of suspicious, glossy leaves and a stem that seems to shift ever so slightly when I walk by. Yes, I’m talking about my houseplant, Herbert (don’t judge, he looks like a Herbert).

    The Case of the Dramatic Droop

    It all started subtly. I’d forget to water Herbert for a few days (okay, maybe a week), and he’d reward me with a dramatic wilting performance worthy of a Victorian fainting couch. But lately, the drooping has become more…pointed. Like, “Are you seriously going to make me thirsty again? I thought we were past this.”

    little too quickly once I’ve watered him, as if to say, “Took you long enough.” The judgment is palpable, people.

    The Curious Case of the Overnight Growth Spurt

    Here’s where things get truly bizarre. Herbert, for months, had been perfectly content with his modest existence on the bookshelf. Then, I had a particularly rough day. You know the kind: spilled coffee on my favorite shirt, missed the bus, accidentally liked my ex’s new girlfriend’s post from three years ago. As I’m wallowing in self-pity, I notice something peculiar. Herbert. Is. HUGE.

    Overnight, he’d sprouted a new leaf, vibrant and green, reaching towards the ceiling. It was almost…triumphant. Had he been holding back all this time, just waiting for the moment I was at my lowest to unleash his botanical dominance? Is this his way of saying, “See, at least someone in this house has their life together”?

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Judging My Life Choices




    Do Houseplants Judge Us? My Leafy Roommates Seem to Think So

    We’ve all been there. You’re having a particularly rough day, and the only witness to your shame-spiral is a leafy friend sitting on your windowsill. But what if that leafy friend wasn’t just a silent observer? What if, behind those vibrant green leaves, lived a judgmental roommate who chronicled your every move?

    My Fiddle Leaf Fig Takes Sides in Family Drama

    It all started innocently enough. I was chatting on the phone with my mom, a woman whose love language is unsolicited advice. As she launched into her weekly critique of my dating life (“Honey, you’re not getting any younger!”), I noticed a change in Ferdinand, my fiddle leaf fig. His leaves, usually perky and full of life, began to droop. Was he…wilting?

    At first, I brushed it off. Maybe he needed water. But then, as my mother continued her well-intentioned but brutal assessment of my life choices, Ferdinand took it up a notch. One by one, his leaves began to yellow, like tiny, botanical surrender flags waving in the face of my existential crisis. It was as if he was saying, “She’s right, you know. Get your act together.”

    Choices

    Ferdinand isn’t the only one with opinions. Penelope, my peace lily, is a master of passive-aggressive judgment. Take, for instance, the Great Instant Ramen Incident of 2023. I was having a particularly harried week, fueled by deadlines and two-minute noodles. As I slurped down my fourth consecutive bowl of sodium-laden goodness, Penelope took a stand. Or rather, a slump.

    Her once-proud blooms, which usually resembled delicate white sails, shriveled up faster than my hopes of ever owning a home with my current dietary choices. I swear I even heard a faint, disapproving sigh coming from the general vicinity of her pot.

    Of course, it’s entirely possible that I’m projecting. Maybe Ferdinand was just thirsty. Maybe Penelope was battling a nasty case of aphids. But it’s hard to ignore the feeling that my plants are privy to my deepest insecurities, silently judging my every move from their ceramic pedestals.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (The Evidence is Compelling)

    Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (The Evidence is Compelling)

    Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (The Evidence is Compelling)

    We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a reality TV marathon you swore you’d never watch, and your eyes meet those of your houseplant. You know, the one you PROMISED you’d water regularly and re-pot when it got rootbound? Yeah, that one. And in that moment, you just KNOW. It’s judging you.

    When My Fiddle Leaf Fig Threw Shade (Literally)

    My personal journey into the secret world of judgmental houseplants began with Ferdinand, my majestic fiddle leaf fig. Now, Ferdinand is a drama queen of the highest order. Give him a little too much sun? Scorched leaves. Not enough humidity? Cue the dramatic leaf drop that would make a soap opera star proud.

    But this time was different. I was in the midst of a particularly disastrous online dating spree, fueled by questionable wine choices and even more questionable swiping decisions. As I recounted the latest cringe-worthy date story to my friend, I noticed Ferdinand’s leaves seemed…droopy. Not just regular thirsty-droopy, but a special kind of I-can’t-even-look-at-you-right-now droopy.

  • The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant

    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant




    The Unexpected Life Lessons I Learned from a Houseplant


    My Journey From Plant Killer to…Slightly Less of a Plant Killer

    Okay, confession time: I am not what one might call a “plant person.” In fact, I have a history with houseplants that can only be described as…tragic. Let’s just say I’ve witnessed more plant funerals than a florist at a mafia wedding.

    plant, I accepted with the cautious optimism of a zookeeper approaching a tiger cub. “Don’t worry,” my friend chirped, “ZZ plants are basically immortal. You practically have to try to kill them.”

    Challenge accepted, I thought.

    Lesson 1: Even the Strongest Need a Little Sunshine

    Turns out, my friend was right. This ZZ plant was a champ. I overwatered it, underwatered it, and even managed to spill coffee on it once (don’t ask). Through it all, the ZZ plant stood strong, a verdant testament to resilience.

    Then, one day, I noticed something was off. The once-vibrant leaves were drooping, their usual deep green fading to a sickly yellow. Had I finally met my match in the plant world? Was this the end of our tumultuous, mostly one-sided relationship?

    A quick Google search revealed the shocking truth: even the mighty ZZ plant needs a little sunshine. I had relegated my plant to a dark corner, assuming its hardiness meant it could survive on vibes alone. I quickly moved it to a sunnier spot, feeling a pang of guilt akin to forgetting to feed a pet goldfish (RIP, Bubbles).

    To my immense relief, the ZZ plant bounced back. It was a powerful reminder that even the strongest among us need nourishment and support to thrive. Yes, even houseplants.

    Lesson 2: Growth Isn’t Always Obvious (But It’s Always Happening)

    Life got busy, as it tends to do, and I settled into a routine with my ZZ plant. I watered it on schedule, gave it the occasional pep talk (don’t judge), and generally avoided spilling anything else on it.

    One day, while dusting (yes, I clean occasionally), I realized something astonishing. The plant…was bigger. Not just a little bigger, but significantly larger. New growth, a vibrant emerald green, sprouted from the base, reaching towards the sun like a tiny, leafy beacon of hope.

  • Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me

    We all have them, those little quirks that make us human. Maybe you leave the dishes “soaking” for a suspiciously long time, or perhaps you’ve mastered the art of wearing the same pair of pajamas for three days straight (no judgment here). But what if, and hear me out on this, our houseplants are silently observing these quirks? Judging them, even?

    The Side-Eye From My Monstera

    It all started innocently enough. I was gifted a beautiful Percy, naturally, and placed him on my bookshelf, imagining our future filled with leafy companionship and Instagram-worthy photoshoots.

    However, my idyllic vision of plant parenthood quickly took a turn. I’d be curled up on the couch, shamelessly binge-watching reality TV in my rattiest sweatpants, when I’d catch Percy‘s leaves subtly angled towards me. Was it my imagination, or was that a silent judgment on his velvety green face?

    Percy‘s leaves quiver. Was he…disgusted? Appalled by my lack of baking prowess? I mean, he wasn’t wrong, but still. It felt personal.

    The Curious Case of the Wilting Fern

    And let’s not forget about Fiona, the fern who met an untimely demise. Now, I’m not saying Percy had anything to do with it, but the timing was suspicious, to say the least. Fiona started wilting the day after I accidentally blasted her with hairspray (it was a windy day, okay?).

    While I mourned Fiona’s crispy fronds, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Percy was somehow… smug? Was he secretly relieved to be rid of the competition for my (admittedly sporadic) attention?