While hustling to the Ratty on a mission for tater tots and Rhody Fresh milk, I was distracted by a casual yet calculated display of trendy aesthetic items, including beta fish, bonsai trees, and, most importantly, a vast array of succulents. The combination of my Ratty cravings and impulsive tendencies overpowered my self-control. Before I knew it, I was six dollars poorer and the mother to a cactus.
It was a selfish choice to use a vulnerable living creature for my own aesthetic purposes, but initially I got away with my scheme. I intentionally positioned my cactus in a prime real estate location in front of my Himalayan salt lamp. Just in case you were wondering, my Himalayan salt lamp is as douchey as it sounds and I did, in fact, buy it from Urban Outfitters. Maybe people would be so overwhelmed by my hip succulent that they forgot to insult my faux-boho lamp preferences.
I thought I could profit off my cactus’ aesthetic value infinitely. It was the perfect relationship: mother benefiting from child without providing any care whatsoever. Then suddenly in the middle of the night, even after all the frat boys went to bed, my cactus started crying! Didn’t it know I had a 9 AM class in just a few hours? I ignored its tears to teach that insensitive prickly prick a lesson. My roommate softly cooed lullabies to soothe the cactus, but I was the one who ended up drifting back to sleep. I’m not sure how much longer it took the cactus to quiet down, but I assume it must have been hours due to the dark circles under my roommate’s eyes and her poor performance on her midterm the next morning.
In addition to demanding water a whopping two times each month, my cactus started asking for food, too. By the end of the week, I had spent all of my guest meal swipes and my points were dwindling quickly. I had to cut back on my Blue Room muffin habit to feed my cactus. I never even got a simple “thank you” for my valiant sacrifice. The ungrateful cactus didn’t even appreciate that I waited for 30 minutes to get it a Jo’s Salad. Apparently, lettuce is “plant kin,” so feeding the cactus salad bordered on cannibalism. That’s what I get for trying to teach my cactus healthy eating habits.
I recently enrolled in Organic Chemistry in order to understand the delicate chemical balance in my cactus’s fertilizer. Every hour I spend in lab is another hour I have to pay the babysitter, so it’s really starting to become a burden. Yet, like the molecules in nitrogen gas, our bond is becoming stronger over time.
As much as I complain about my cactus, I recognize that I made the decision to become its mother, so it is my duty to care for it. Also, my friends have been so distracted by my motherhood-induced chaos that they actually have stopped insulting my Himalayan salt lamp, so I guess motherhood really is worthwhile after all.
Image via Allie Tsuchiya.