Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: plant humor

  • 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.