Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: plant humor

  • 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)

    The Side-Eye Started With a Spider Plant

    Let me preface this by saying I’m a reasonably responsible plant parent. I don’t overwater, I don’t underwater (much), and I even attempt to mimic the tropical humidity my plant children crave. But lately, my spider plant, Herbert, has been acting…off.

    It started subtly. A slight droop on days I slept in. A perky resurgence when I finally unpacked that box of “decorative gourds” I’d been meaning to display. But then things escalated.

    Exhibit A: The Case of the Dramatic Wilt

    Remember that “decorative gourd” display? Turns out, it was less “charming autumnal vignette” and more “breeding ground for fruit flies.” I battled those tiny winged demons for a solid week, a period during which Herbert staged what can only be described as a theatrical performance of despair.

    plant equivalent of “I haven’t slept in days.” The moment the last fruit fly met its demise? Herbert perked up like he’d just won the plant lottery. Coincidence? I think not.

    Exhibit B: The Suspicious Growth Spurt

    Now, I’m not saying I need validation from a houseplant, but I’d be lying if I said a little plant-based ego boost didn’t feel nice. Which brings me to Herbert’s suspicious growth spurt.

    It happened after I successfully propagated a new plant from a cutting. One day, Herbert was your average, slightly judgmental spider plant. The next? He was a verdant fountain of foliage, practically bursting with new growth and even – dare I say it – pride.

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

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



    From Green Thumb to Green Judgment?

    The other day, I was shamelessly devouring a bag of chips, still in my pajamas at 2 PM, when I caught my Monstera Deliciosa’s giant, perforated leaf seemingly turned towards me. It felt like it was judging me. And not the gentle, “you should probably eat a vegetable” kind of judgment. No, this felt like a deep, philosophical “what are you doing with your life?” kind of stare-down.

    Now, I know what you’re thinking: “She’s lost it. It’s a plant.” But hear me out! Plants are more perceptive than we give them credit for. They literally turn towards the sun. Who’s to say they aren’t absorbing our chaotic energy too? This marked the beginning of my descent into the hilarious (and slightly concerning) possibility that my beloved houseplants are, in fact, incredibly judgmental roommates.

    Peace Lily

    My peace lily, usually a beacon of tranquility (hence the name, right?), started throwing some serious shade (pun intended) recently. After a particularly stressful week—filled with deadlines, burnt coffee, and forgotten Zoom meetings—my once-lush lily was drooping lower than my enthusiasm for doing laundry.

    Coincidence? I think not. It was as if it was saying, “Get it together, Sharon! Inner peace starts with a tidy apartment and a semblance of a sleep schedule.” I swear it perked up a little after I finally unpacked that suitcase from last month’s trip.

  • The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent




    The Unspoken Rules of Being a Plant Parent

    My Brown Thumb Redemption Arc (Or So I Thought)

    Remember that time I swore off plants because I accidentally murdered a cactus? Yeah, well, past me clearly didn’t anticipate the siren song of a clearance-aisle fiddle leaf fig. Fast forward to present day, and my apartment looks like a greenhouse exploded. But becoming a bonafide plant parent? Oh honey, that’s not just about keeping things alive—it’s about navigating a whole set of unspoken rules.

    The Drama of a Dramatic Leaf Drop

    Listen, I’m a rational human being. I understand that plants shed leaves. It’s natural. But catch me dramatically mourning a single yellowed leaf like I’m Ophelia in Hamlet? Absolutely. We, as plant parents, are contractually obligated to engage in this theatricality. It doesn’t matter if our plant is thriving with new growth, a fallen comrade sends us spiraling into a vortex of self-doubt and frantic Google searches. “Why is my plant shedding leaves?! Is it dying?! Is it me?! Am I the drama?!”

    And don’t even get me started on the art of the “subtle brag.” We pretend to lament the loss of a leaf while subtly angling the conversation towards the vigorous new growth sprouting from the top. It’s a delicate dance, really.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging Me? I’m Starting to Think So…

    Is My Houseplant Judging Me? I’m Starting to Think So…



    Are My Houseplants Judging Me? I Think They Might Be…

    We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch in your oldest sweatpants, two days past your shower date, debating whether that bag of chips counts as dinner… again. Suddenly, you lock eyes with your houseplant. You know, the one you swore you’d take care of? The one you’d lovingly water and fertilize and sing to? (Okay, maybe that last part was a bit much). In that instant, you swear you see a flicker of judgment in its leaves. Or maybe it’s just the way the light is hitting it?

    When My Fiddle Leaf Fig Staged an Intervention

    My suspicions began with Ferdinand, my majestic fiddle leaf fig. He was thriving when I first brought him home, a vision of verdant glory. But lately? Let’s just say our relationship has been… strained. It all started with a particularly brutal breakup (he always did prefer Ben & Jerry’s over heartbreak). I may have forgotten to water him for, let’s not dwell on the specifics, a while.

    When I finally remembered, Ferdinand was drooping dramatically, leaves practically dragging on the floor. As I frantically tried to revive him, I could have sworn he sighed. A deep, put-upon, “Seriously?” kind of sigh.

    Plant Disapprove of My Dating Life?

    Ferdinand isn’t the only one with an opinion. My snake plant, Susan, is a master of the silent treatment. She’s a low-maintenance gal, I’ll give her that. But sometimes, I feel like her silence speaks volumes.

    Like the time I brought home a questionable online date (Susan has always had impeccable taste). I swear I saw her leaves curl inward in disapproval. And don’t even get me started on her reaction to my attempts at “feng shui” – let’s just say she’s not afraid to throw some serious shade.

  • 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 Me? (The Evidence is Compelling)

    We all have them – those little quirks that make us feel like our lives are open books. Maybe you leave dishes “soaking” for a suspiciously long time, or perhaps your definition of “making the bed” is loosely based on what a toddler considers a job well done. But lately, I’ve started to suspect that someone (or something) is taking particular notice of my, shall we say, less-than-perfect habits. And that someone is Ferdinand, my seemingly innocent peace lily.

    Did My Peace Lily Just Raise an Eyebrow?

    It all started innocently enough. I was rushing around, trying to find my keys amidst a mountain of laundry (don’t judge!), when I caught Ferdinand‘s “eye.” Now, I realize plants don’t technically have eyes or eyebrows, but the way his single, broad leaf tilted towards the chaos was enough to make me pause. It was as if he was saying, “Really, Brenda? This is what you’re doing with your life?”

    Judging My Diet? (The Wilting Says It All)

    Then there was the time I decided to order takeout for the third night in a row. (Hey, adulting is hard!) As I unwrapped my burger, I noticed Ferdinand looking a little droopy. Was it my imagination, or was he subtly judging my less-than-nutritious dinner choices? I swear I even heard a faint sigh as I popped open a can of soda instead of reaching for a glass of water. Okay, maybe that last part was in my head, but still. The wilting! The judgment! It was all too real.

    Living With a Passive-Aggressive Plant Parent

    Since then, I’ve become acutely aware of Ferdinand’s silent observations. I swear he perks up a little when I actually cook a healthy meal, and his leaves seem to droop lower every time I binge-watch reality TV instead of tackling my to-do list. It’s gotten to the point where I’m starting to feel like I’m living with a passive-aggressive roommate who communicates solely through subtle shifts in foliage.

    But here’s the funny thing: as much as I joke about Ferdinand’s judgmental tendencies, I secretly kind of love it. It’s like having a tiny, green accountability buddy who, despite not having a mouth, manages to say, “Get it together, Brenda!” without actually saying anything at all.

    Do Your Houseplants Judge You Too?

    So, tell me, dear readers, am I alone in this? Do your houseplants judge your life choices too?

  • Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Join My Club)

    Confessions of a Recovering Plant Killer (and Why You Should Totally Join My Club)

    From Black Thumb to Proud Plant Parent

    Okay, let’s be honest. My journey into the lush, vibrant world of plant parenthood started with a graveyard of succulents. I’m talking shriveled leaves, droopy stems, the whole nine yards. If plants had obituaries, mine would’ve said, “Died tragically from overwatering by a well-meaning but clueless human.”

    plant thing one last shot. And let me tell you, I’m so glad I did.

    The Day My Fiddle Leaf Fig (Almost) Spoke to Me

    It all started with a majestic Fiddle Leaf Fig, a plant notorious for its diva-like tendencies. I approached it with the trepidation of a knight facing a dragon, armed with nothing but a watering can and a prayer. But as the weeks turned into months, something magical happened. My Fiddle Leaf Fig, which I affectionately named Fiona, didn’t just survive—she thrived!

    Suddenly, I was a proud plant parent, eagerly checking for new growth like a mother hen counting her chicks. That’s when I realized the unexpected joys of this whole plant thing:

    3 Unexpected Joys of Being a Plant Parent

    • Instant Mood Booster: Walking into a room filled with vibrant greenery is like stepping into a spa for your soul. Seriously, try frowning while surrounded by leafy goodness. It’s impossible!
    • The Thrill of the Grow: Remember the excitement of waking up on Christmas morning? That’s me every time I spot a new leaf unfurling. It’s the little things, people!
    • A Connection to Nature (Without Leaving Your Couch): Okay, maybe I exaggerate a little. But there’s something incredibly grounding about nurturing another living thing, even if it can’t tell you about its day.

    Plants: The Chillest Roommates (and They Come With Benefits!)

    Unlike my previous roommate who insisted on blasting opera music at 3 am, my plants are the epitome of chill. They don’t borrow my clothes without asking, they never eat the last of the ice cream, and they haven’t complained once about my questionable taste in reality TV.

    Plus, they come with a host of other benefits:

    1. Air Purifiers Extraordinaire: Say goodbye to stuffy rooms and hello to fresh, clean air, courtesy of your leafy roommates.
    2. Stress Relievers: Studies show that being around plants can actually lower stress levels. Who needs therapy when you have a Monstera Deliciosa, am I right?
    3. They Make You Look Put-Together: Nothing says “I’m a responsible adult” like a well-tended houseplant. Just ignore the pile of laundry in the corner. Nobody has to know.
  • Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (The Answer Might Surprise You)

    Is My Houseplant Judging My Life Choices? (The Answer Might Surprise You)



    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 you catch a glimpse of your houseplant. It’s just sitting there, silently existing, yet you can’t shake the feeling that it’s… judging you.

    Okay, maybe not literally judging. But lately, my leafy roommate and I have developed a complex relationship that can only be described as one of mutual side-eye.

    The Dating App Debacle: When My Plant Staged an Intervention

    It all started with a particularly egregious dating app decision. I was about to message someone who’s profile picture featured them holding a fish (red flag, I know) when I noticed my peace lily, Beatrice, looking particularly droopy. Now, I’m no botanist, but even I could tell this went beyond needing a splash of water.

  • Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into the Mind of My Monstera

    Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into the Mind of My Monstera

    Is My Houseplant Judging Me? A Deep Dive into My Monstera‘s Mind

    The Day My Monstera Raised an Eyebrow

    Let’s be honest, plant parents. We’ve all been there. That moment when you lock eyes with your leafy companion and swear you see a flicker of judgment in their… well, lack of eyes. It happened to me last Tuesday. I was sprawled on the couch, shamelessly devouring a bag of chips, reruns of a reality TV show I’m too embarrassed to name playing on the screen. As I reached for another chip, my hand brushed against my majestic Monstera Deliciosa, Phil.

    And that’s when it happened. One of Phil‘s giant, perforated leaves tilted. Ever so slightly. Like a judgmental eyebrow raised in a silent, “Seriously?”

    Phil‘s silent scrutiny, and frankly, it’s making me re-evaluate my life choices.

    Exhibit A: The Case of the Unwatered Succulent

    Remember Gary, the succulent I adopted with promises of a bright future and well-drained soil? Yeah, about that. Gary didn’t fare so well. Apparently, “low-maintenance” doesn’t mean “no-maintenance” (who knew?). One overwatering incident (or three) later, Gary went to the great plant shop in the sky. And you know who witnessed the whole sorry saga? Phil. He sat there, silently observing as I over-compensated with affection, then ultimately, failed Gary.

    I swear, I saw a new leaf unfurl the day after Gary went to succulent heaven. Coincidence? I think not.

    Exhibit B: The Great Unwashed Dishes Debacle

    We all have those days. The ones where even the thought of putting on pants feels like a monumental task, let alone tackling the Mount Everest of dirty dishes piled precariously beside the sink. One such day, I was feeling particularly unmotivated. I shuffled past Phil, takeout container in hand, and swore I heard a rustle of disapproval. Okay, maybe it was just the air conditioning vent, but still. The timing was uncanny.

  • 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, two days into a questionable Netflix binge, when you catch a glimpse of your once-thriving houseplant. Its leaves are drooping, it’s practically begging for water, and you can’t shake the feeling that it’s…judging you.

    My Fiddle Leaf Fig’s Dramatic Intervention

    My journey into the oddly specific paranoia of houseplant judgment began with Ferdinand, my majestic (or so I thought) fiddle leaf fig. He was the crown jewel of my living room, a symbol of my foray into responsible adulthood. Then came the fateful day I forgot to water him. For two weeks.

    I returned from a weekend getaway to find Ferdinand looking less like a majestic jungle king and more like a wilted salad. As I scrambled for the watering can, I swear he sighed dramatically. Okay, maybe not, but the judgmental aura was palpable. That’s when it hit me: Ferdinand was judging my life choices, and honestly, who could blame him?

    water dish for a day? Expect a dramatic fainting episode, complete with theatrically drooping leaves. Dare to move her an inch to the left, away from her preferred sunbeam? She’ll sulk for a week, her growth stunted as if to say, “I see your blatant disregard for my carefully calibrated lighting needs.”

    And don’t even get me started on the time I accidentally overfertilized. Let’s just say Petunia’s silent treatment lasted a solid month. Clearly, I am not living up to her standards of plant parenthood.

    Even Succulents Give the Side-Eye

    You’d think succulents, with their reputation for resilience, would be above such judgment. You’d be wrong. My collection of succulents, affectionately dubbed “The Jury,” have perfected the art of the side-eye.

    One particularly judgmental echeveria, whom I’ve named Gladys, seems to disapprove of my entire existence. Did I leave the blinds open too long, subjecting her to a few extra minutes of sunlight? Gladys will let me know with a withering stare. Did I dare to water her on a Tuesday instead of a Wednesday, like the rule-abiding plant parent I pretend to be? Her disapproval radiates through the room.