When I was younger, my mom used to task me with watering all her house plants every morning, which honestly felt more like a chore than an honor.
I'd trudge my way from room to room, looking for any greenery that needed a little drink, and silently curse my mom for needing to turn our modest home into a damn jungle.
I'm not happy unless I feel like I'm literally surrounded by beautiful green leaves, some attached to vines cascading down from their pots while others sprout up towards the ceiling with lush pride.
It's not for lack of trying, either. I research each new addition to my home so I can determine where they'll best be suited, I follow a strict watering schedule, and I whisper sweet-nothings to them every time I pass by so they know they're loved.
Okay, admittedly I've gone off my watering schedule once or twice. And yeah, maybe sometimes the "shady" spot I determined would suit one plant baby best turns out to be way sunnier then I had originally thought.
But it really feels like all it takes is the teeniest, tiniest mistake to wipe out an entire population of green fellas.
Or (hear me out), maybe plants are finicky little assholes who ask too much from us and give up all hope when we make one little mistake.
At any rate, this tweet just reminded me I haven't watered my own babies today so let's all say a quick prayer that they don't punish me for that.
