I like to drink my coffee and inspect my plants—because let’s face it, someone’s got to keep an eye on these drama queens. I check for dryness, moistness, suspicious new leaves, and rogue pests (who I suspect are just freeloaders squatting rent-free). Honestly, my plant care routine has blossomed into a full-time gig—my monstera’s got more issues than Vogue and my succulents are more dramatic than a soap opera. Some people get addicted to caffeine or reality TV; me? I’m addicted to checking if my fiddle leaf fig is still holding a grudge about last week’s repotting. But hey, at least my plants don’t judge me when I talk to them. I like to think of myself as a chlorophyll whisperer, caffeinated and always rooting for the underplants.