My cactus got that drip.

Now, listen here. I left my good old cactus, nice and neat, trimmed down just right—simple, respectable, nothing too flashy. And I come back, and what do I see? A whole thing sprouting right on top of its head like some wild, untamed mess. Pardon me.

I squint at it, tilt my head. What in the name of good, proper houseplants is this?

Back in my day, a cactus knew its place. It sat there, quietly, maybe grew a little taller, but never—not once—did it wake up and decide to slap a whole flower on top like it’s off to some fancy city gala. What is this new generation up to? Can’t just be a cactus, no, no. Gotta make a statement. Gotta be extra.

And you know what the kids say these days? They say—now, let me get this right… huh? Yeah, that’s what they say.

sighs deeply

Fine.

My cactus got that drip.

p.s. Just kidding. My cactus has got a better sense of style than I ever will have. 🌵