🧹 Why My Vacuum Cleaner Knows Too Much About Me 🤖💀

Once upon a perfectly average Tuesday, I made a decision I thought was smart and adult: I bought a robot vacuum.
You know, one of those adorable, disc-shaped cleaning ninjas that roams your house like it owns the lease.

I named it Dusty, because if I was going to be judged by a household appliance, it might as well sound cute.

Little did I know that Dusty wasn’t just here to suck up crumbs.
He was here to expose my entire lifestyle.

Day 1:
Dusty mapped my house like it was applying for a job at Google.
Beeped once, spun twice, then zipped away—straight under the couch.
Ten seconds later, he stopped and sent a notification:

“Cleaning paused. Obstruction detected.”
Translation: “You got a whole pizza crust under here, you goblin.”

Day 3:
I got another alert.

“Routine complete. High-dust area: near bed.”
Listen, Dusty, some of us snack in bed and don’t need the judgment.

Day 5:
I spilled cereal in the kitchen. Dusty zipped over before I could blink—like he was waiting.
I’m not saying he’s spying… but I am saying he’s suspiciously punctual.

Then came the 3 a.m. incident.
Out of nowhere, Dusty turned on by himself.
He zoomed out of the charging station like he had beef with the hardwood.
I woke up to clattering, blinking lights, and the unholy sound of him eating a sock.
I ran out like it was a home invasion, only to find Dusty aggressively spinning in circles.
No command. No scheduled clean. Just vibes.

Was he possessed? Possibly.
Was he trying to establish dominance? Also possible.

At this point, I started getting weekly emails from the app:

“Here’s your personalized cleaning report.”
It included heat maps of my dirtiest areas, timestamps, and—somehow—my average snack schedule?

So now, not only does my vacuum know where I drop the most crumbs, it knows what time I do it.
It knows my habits. My patterns. My weaknesses.

I can’t lie to Dusty.
He’s like a tiny, spinning therapist with receipts.

Look, I didn’t expect to feel judged by a household device.
But here we are—me, Dusty, and a weekly report that reads more like a lifestyle intervention.

In conclusion:
I love him. I hate him.
I fear he’s planning a podcast called “Crumbs & Chaos: A Life in Dust.”

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