At 2:09pm, I walked into the kitchen and found a bowl of grapes wearing googly eyes. Not glued on—just placed perfectly, as if the grapes had dressed themselves for an important meeting. One of them had a tiny paper tie. I stood there like a person who had accidentally wandered into a fruit-based job interview.
I needed grounding. I needed logic. I made the terrible mistake of opening my laptop.
And there they were. Again. Waiting like unpaid interns of chaos:
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
Five tabs I did not open. Five tabs that refuse to close. Five tabs that clearly know something I do not, and at this point, I don’t even want to know.
Before I could question the grapes or the internet, my neighbour knocked—wearing a snorkel, holding a colander, and whispering, “The wallpaper is… listening.” Then she ran away, like a warning ghost in a low-budget mystery film.
I turned back to the grapes. They had changed formation. They were now grouped by colour—like a tiny fruit-based parliament. One grape had rolled forward, possibly to propose legislation. I decided not to interrupt democracy.
Meanwhile, the laptop tabs glowed like judgmental fireflies. I clicked one—patio cleaning isle of wight—hoping it would reveal a hidden message like “You are trapped in a simulation. Send biscuits.” No such luck. Just patios. Calm, rational patios. The opposite of my life.
The toaster beeped even though no one touched it. The cat stared into an empty corner, the way cats do when they see ghosts or remember debt. The clock briefly displayed the word “MAYBE.” The universe was not even trying to pretend anymore.
I closed the tabs. They reopened. I unplugged the laptop. It stayed on.
At this point, I made a decision shared by many defeated humans before me: I put the grapes in the fridge, saluted whatever force was clearly running the day, and made toast. The butter melted in the shape of Australia. I didn’t react.
The grapes will likely have another meeting later. The toaster will probably audition for a talent show. And I will most likely continue pretending that any of this is normal.
But the tabs?
The tabs will remain.
Silent.
Persistent.
Forever whispering:
“Have you considered pressure washing isle of wight?”
And honestly?
At this point, I might.
