I don't just *order* my coffee. I treat it like a pivotal scene where I'm delivering a profound, understated line.

The barista, of course, is the weary, all-knowing confidante who understands the unspoken weight behind 'just a medium latte.'

I swear some guys on dating apps say they want a 'low-maintenance' woman.

But then expect her to show up looking like she just finished a photoshoot. Honey, my 'low-maintenance' look involves dry shampoo and a prayer.

My coffee machine decided to stop working this morning.

So, I stood there, dramatically caressed the cold metal, and delivered a five-minute monologue to it about betrayal, loss, and the cruel indifference of a world without caffeine, as if I were starring in a prestige drama.

He said he was looking for 'an independent woman' on his dating profile.

And by 'independent,' I think he meant 'a woman who pays for her own drinks, drives herself home, and never asks him to lift a finger around her apartment.'