We’ve all been there. You walk past your plant, give it a cursory glance, and suddenly you’re hit with the unshakeable feeling that it’s… judging you. I know, I know, it sounds crazy. Plants don’t have feelings… right?
My Fiddle Leaf Fig and the Case of the Craft Beer
My journey into the (possibly delusional) world of plant judgment began with Ferdinand, my majestic fiddle leaf fig. Now, Ferdinand and I have a complicated history. He never really liked my ex-boyfriend, Steve. Every time Steve walked by, Ferdinand would dramatically droop, his leaves practically sweeping the floor in an exaggerated sigh.
My Cactus Knows When I’m Procrastinating
Ferdinand isn’t the only one in my plant family harboring strong opinions. Take Priscilla, my prickly pear cactus, for example. She’s a real piece of work. Literally. Her idea of affection is a light dusting every few months and a stingy tablespoon of water when she’s feeling dramatic (which, let’s be honest, is always).
But here’s the thing: Priscilla seems to have developed a sixth sense for when I’m procrastinating. I’ll be elbows-deep in a Netflix binge, shamelessly ignoring my to-do list, when suddenly I’ll feel this prickly sensation on the back of my neck. I turn around, and there she is, her spiky arms pointed directly at me like some sort of miniature, judgmental cactus god.