We all have them, right? Those little moments of self-doubt that bloom like a…well, like a particularly judgmental houseplant. Lately, I’ve become convinced that my beloved Ficus, Ferdinand, is silently scrutinizing my every life choice.
It Started With a Droopy Leaf…
It all began innocently enough. I was rushing around, late for work (again), scarfing down cold toast (again), when I noticed Ferdinand looking a little…droopy. Now, I’m not a plant whisperer or anything, but even I could tell he wasn’t his usual, vibrant self.
“Did I forget to water you?” I mumbled, already mentally calculating how late this would make me.
And that’s when it hit me. The look. It was subtle, just a slight tilt of the pot, a rustle of leaves, but in that moment, I swear Ferdinand was judging me. It was as if he was saying, “Water? You think THAT’s the issue? You think a little H2O is going to fix this chaotic life you lead?”
Things escalated quickly from there. I tried to win Ferdinand back with classical music (apparently, Mozart makes plants grow faster? Who knew?). I even started talking to him, confessing my deepest fears and aspirations like he was some kind of leafy therapist.
And Ferdinand? He remained unimpressed. In fact, my other plant, a supposedly “easygoing” Prayer Plant, started exhibiting similar signs of disapproval. Its leaves, which were once perfectly folded like tiny praying hands (hence the name), now looked more like they were shielding themselves from the disaster that was my life.
“Okay, maybe I haven’t called my mother back,” I muttered to the Prayer Plant, “but it’s been a week! She’ll survive.”
The leaves remained resolutely unfolded.