Just Relaxed Blog

Tag: Plant Person

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

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




    We’ve all been there. You’re sprawled on the couch, three episodes deep into a reality TV marathon, when you catch a glimpse of your houseplant. You know, the one you swore you’d nurture, the one that was supposed to bring tranquility and life into your home? Yeah, that one. And in that moment, you swear it’s judging you.

    The Side-Eye Heard ‘Round the Living Room

    It all started subtly. I’d be rushing out the door, late for work (again), and I’d catch a glimpse of my peace lily, Herbert, out of the corner of my eye. His leaves seemed to droop a little lower than usual, as if to say, “Another day, another missed watering, huh?”

    Herbert‘s pot had somehow swiveled on the windowsill. He was now facing me directly, and I swear, if plants could frown, he would have been giving me the mother of all disapproving looks.

    Silent Disapproval: The Case of the Crumbling Cookie

    The judgment only intensified from there. I’d find myself straightening up the apartment, suddenly self-conscious about the pile of laundry I’d been ignoring. “What would Herbert think?” my brain would whisper. “He thrives in an environment of order and good decisions!”

    Then there was the cookie incident. I may have, perhaps, indulged in a late-night snack and forgotten to sweep up a few errant crumbs. The next morning, I found a single, defiant leaf pointing directly at the mess. It was like a green, leafy finger wagging at my lack of discipline.

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

    Why I’m Convinced My Houseplant is Secretly Judging Me





    The Eyebrow Raise Heard ‘Round the Living Room

    I swear it happened. I was sprawled on the couch, shamelessly devouring a bag of chips (okay, fine, the entire family-sized bag), when I caught a glimpse of Oswald, my prized fiddle-leaf fig. He usually stands tall and proud, his leaves a vibrant emerald green. But in that moment, as I licked cheesy dust off my fingers, one of his leaves seemed to…droop. It was almost imperceptible, but I saw it. It was like an eyebrow raise of disapproval, a silent judgment of my questionable life choices.

    Oswald). But there’s something about the way he reacts to my presence, or lack thereof, that makes me question his true motives.

    Take last week, for example. I was swamped with deadlines, surviving on coffee and sheer willpower. Did I forget to water Oswald? Maybe. Was it an oversight of epic proportions, considering I pride myself on being a plant parent extraordinaire? Absolutely. But the way he dramatically wilted, leaves drooping like a Shakespearean actor in mourning, seemed a tad excessive. I’m pretty sure he waited until I was on an important video call, the picture of professional composure, before choosing that exact moment to stage his botanical meltdown. The timing was impeccable, and dare I say, a little passive-aggressive.

    Sun, Water, and Side-Eye?

    It’s not just the wilting, either. I swear Oswald strategically positions his leaves to catch me in compromising positions. Leaving dirty dishes in the sink overnight? BAM! A leaf blocks my reflection in the window, forcing me to confront my slovenly ways. Scrolling through social media instead of tackling the laundry pile? A strategically angled leaf casts a shadow that looks suspiciously like a disapproving headshake.

    Look, I know it’s ridiculous. Plants don’t judge. They don’t have the cognitive capacity for such complex emotions. But tell that to Oswald, who seems to communicate his disdain through a complex system of leaf angles and wilting variations.