Everybody loves owning plants – they bring fresh oxygen and soothing colors into their home. And while I do own several plants, I don’t really consider myself to be a “plant mom” – I’m more of the plant owner that has reluctantly taken them in after their father has remarried, and reminds them every day of their terrible burden upon me.
In other words, you could call me a “plant evil stepmother”. You know, the kind you see in Disney movies, but for plants.
I’m aware that “normal” people enjoy having plants around. They smile when they see a pretty one; they water it and nurture it with sunlight. Well, I was never really the nurturing type, and I never really understood why people spend so much time trying to make them “thrive”.
I sense that they know how much I despise them, and I can’t blame them if they resent me for it. I hate that I’m responsible for keeping them alive.
You never grow up thinking that you’re going to be the evil stepmom character in your own life, but as you age, you start to understand how it happens. First, your new husband is like, “Can I just bring this one fiddle leaf from my old apartment? It’s really dear to me,” and the next thing you know, you’re slaving over five of someone else’s very high-maintenance plants that you did NOT sign up for when you married him. Like, hello? I want to travel the world and get drunk alone on a Monday and leave town for a month with no explanation. I’m too tired to listen to the constant whining of a plant that is quietly dying in the corner of the room. Please. Spare me the pity party and take care of yourself. You’re goddamn seven years old! Get your own water.
Look; I don’t consider myself a narcissist, but I will do whatever it takes to draw attention away from others and directly to myself. And as long as my plants remain in their respective corners of the house, there’s no way they can conspire against me (although I am suspicious they are trying).
Would I prefer it if they were dead? No, I’m not that evil. But I would love to watch them suffer for a very long time. You know, typical evil stepmother stuff.
Do I spend my entire life trying to torture them by forgetting them in the basement for weeks and then overwatering them profusely? No, but sometimes I do it by accident, and I think the impact is more or less the same. I’m a plant evil stepmother; it’s just my thing!