I shared with a girl when I first moved to Bristol. She had these bloody plant pots outside the back door and never flippin' shut up about them to anyone who came into the flat. Every dog and it's mother had to be taken outside to see these bloody pots…with the easiest to grow shrubs in the world in them. It's not like there were rare only-existing-in-Kew orchids in there.
After a while, I picked one particular pot and used to have a wee in it every night before I'd go to bed. Eventually, the obvious happened…the shrubs wilted and died. There were three or four flourishing pots and one that no matter what she did with it, just died.
I never owned up to it, and still feel a bit guilty about it even now.