Objectively speaking, houseplants are dumb. We build houses for a very specific reason, to make sure that all the stuff in the outside world stays exactly where it belongs – outside. After thousands of years we’ve gotten pretty good at this. We’re at the point now where even if you walked into the most rundown of houses, you could be confident that a herd of deer wouldn’t be hanging around the kitchen snacking on cheerios. But of course, there had to be some guy from who knows how long ago that sat down and decided “ Y’know what? My living room doesn’t have nearly enough jars full of dirt lying around.” For some reason the idea stuck and now everyone has some weird relative with a small forest just freeloading it in an otherwise natureless household. I think at this point it’s fair to point out the obvious hypocrisy here because I actually own a houseplant… Ok allow me to defend myself:
This is Jeremy the Succulent. He’s about 10 inches tall, weighs almost nothing, and cannot read or write. In fact, he has almost no marketable skills and his résumé only has one word on it: Photosynthesis.
Despite this I love my adopted plant son. He reminds me of how fragile my life really is. Just like him, i’ll die in a week tops without any water. I think that’s quite nice.