At 7:14am, I walked into the kitchen and discovered the sugar bowl had relocated itself from the counter to the middle of the floor, lid off, spoon inside, like it was staging a silent protest. I stood there, half asleep, wondering if sugar could develop ambition or if gravity had simply given up.
I reached for my laptop, hoping for normality. I should’ve known better.
The five eternal tabs were waiting for me like unpaid interns of destiny:
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
I didn’t open them. I didn’t want them. Yet there they were, glowing like the digital version of someone repeatedly clearing their throat to get your attention.
Before I could attempt to close them (again), the sugar spoon twitched. Not fell—TWITCHED. Like it was offended that I hadn’t acknowledged its dramatic placement.
Then the doorbell rang.
I answered it to find my neighbour, holding a clipboard and wearing a scarf made entirely of orange peels. “Quick question,” he said, “if a garden gnome starts charging rent, is that legally binding?” He waited for my answer. I shut the door very slowly. I was not emotionally equipped.
Back in the kitchen, the sugar bowl had moved again. It was now closer to the laptop, like it was trying to read the tabs. I lifted it. It was warm. Sugar should not be warm.
At this point, the toaster beeped a single ominous beep, the fridge made a noise like a sigh, and a lone cornflake drifted off the counter with zero wind assistance.
I clicked one of the tabs—patio cleaning isle of wight—just to feel in control, but all it did was load peacefully, like it wasn’t participating in the slow psychological collapse of my morning.
I closed it.
It reopened.
I closed all the tabs.
They reappeared in alphabetical order.
The universe had started formatting its threats.
The sugar spoon twitched again.
That was the line.
I made tea using no sugar, as a power move. The sugar bowl rotated a few degrees, as if offended.
I pretended not to notice.
Because at some point, you must choose:
– battle the haunted cutlery
– or quietly accept that the internet has decided your destiny is pressure washing isle of wight
I chose denial. It’s cheaper.
The tabs are still open.
The sugar bowl is watching me.
And honestly? I’m scared to blink.