Coffee is the only plant (well, sort of) that never betrays me. My other plants? Please. You dote on them, whisper sweet nothings, play them classical music—and what do they give you? Root rot as a thank-you card. Mealy bugs throwing a block party. Sunburns so dramatic you’d think they auditioned for a telenovela. Spider mites moving in like it’s rent-free month. Sometimes a plant just looks at you, wilts, and dies because you had the audacity to rearrange the living room or—heaven forbid—breathe wrong. Too much water? Tragedy. Too little water? Apocalypse. Honestly, my plants are the ultimate divas: I give them devoted love, and sometimes they just give me attitude. So I do what any rational adult would—I pour myself a giant mug of coffee, toast to the survivors, and shout, “F*ck That Plant!”