Yakabatanidzwa ruzha

This morning, I marched into the kitchen like a hero returning from battle… chest out, slippers dragging, hair doing whatever it wanted… fully prepared to craft the perfect cup of coffee. My masterpiece. My morning salvation. My reason for existing… before 9 a.m. I approached my fancy new machine — the one that promised “barista‑level excellence” and “effortless brewing.” Lies. All lies. Still… I pressed the button with confidence. The machine growled at me. Not a normal growl — no, no, no. This