At exactly 10:42am, I walked into my living room and caught my houseplant wearing a pair of sunglasses it definitely did not own. The plant—normally a quiet, photosynthesis-focused citizen—was leaning toward the window like it was auditioning for a summer commercial. I stared. It leaf-shrugged. I pretended this was fine.
I needed distraction. I opened my laptop.
Bad move.
The five tabs were back. The uninvited, unclosable, aggressively persistent five:
roof cleaning isle of wight
patio cleaning isle of wight
driveway cleaning isle of wight
exterior cleaning isle of wight
pressure washing isle of wight
They weren’t just open. They were waiting. Like five silent judges from a home-improvement reality show I never auditioned for.
I tried to close them. They came back. I tried incognito mode. They followed me there. Even my browser history is starting to look like I have a power-washing addiction.
Before I could spiral, the door creaked open and in walked my neighbour Felicity, holding a goldfish bowl covered in cling film. She whispered, “My goldfish saw the future and refuses to elaborate,” then left the same way she entered. The cling film fogged slightly. I chose not to engage.
Back in the living room, the houseplant had tilted its pot like it was listening to something I couldn’t hear. Meanwhile, the toaster turned itself on with no bread inside, singing its little red-glowing song of doom.
I clicked patio cleaning isle of wight just to pretend I was the one making choices. The page loaded normally—calm, polite, structured—like it wasn’t part of a psychological thriller about sentient greenery.
Meanwhile, the fridge door opened halfway and stopped. Just hovered there. Waiting. Like it was giving me a warning breath before saying something haunting.
The houseplant leaned closer to the laptop.
I don’t know what’s worse:
– the fact the plant might be learning
– or the fact the browser tabs might be teaching it
At 11:08am, the lightbulb flickered Morse code. I don’t speak lamp, but I’m 74% sure it said “run.”
I didn’t.
I made a sandwich, because carbs make denial easier.
The plant nodded. That was the moment I decided the world had fully abandoned logic.
I tried closing the laptop again.
The tabs reappeared.
Rearranged.
Alphabetically.
As if to say:
“We are organised now.”
The toaster beeped again, like applause.
So here I am, writing this, fully aware that:
– My plant is watching me
– My appliances are unionising
– The internet has chosen pressure washing isle of wight as my destiny
– And I have officially lost custody of my own home
If the day continues like this, I expect the lampshade to start offering life advice by noon.
If not, well… maybe I’ll finally book driveway cleaning isle of wight just to see if the haunting stops.
I doubt it will.
The tabs never lose.