The wake-up splash
September 21, 2018
The dishevelled little owl is more dishevelled than ever. Yesterday morning she woke, fluffy and rumpledy, and decided to teach herself (while still so very sleepy) how to use Facebook's story newsfeed with all its strange-and-funny masks. She plumped her pillows, picked up her IPhone from beside her bed and held it up, just as she would a book. She looked at Story's silly pussy-cat mask and at its cool hat-and-sunglasses mask. "Select a face," the screen told her. The little owl (not quite awake yet) tried to upload a picture-with-faces-in-it from her photo store. When this didn't work she plumped her pillow again, pushed her tangled sleep-feathers from her face, yawned, and wondered whether this Story-feed-mask-stuff only worked on new photos. With no warning bells ringing anywhere in the cosmos, she took a photo of herself (a mighty-just-woken-up-first-thing-in-the-morning-photo). She studied it. (And decided her no-selfie policy and her no-mobile-phone-snaps-ever-policy should be retained forever and always.) When she had completely embarrassed herself with all this self-study, the little owl applied an overlay of sparkles to her face-on-the-phone, thinking this was just what her first-thing-in-the-morning self needed. She considered the result for a bit. "No," she decided. "It doesn't help." And so she deleted the sparkles. Scrolled forward and scrolled back. (And then, with a great chiming, came the day's first wake-up splash from the cosmic cold water bucket.) Her sleepy-first-thing-in-the-morning-photo was GONE. She sat up-straight. Checked her photo store. With her feathers all-on-end, she checked her personal Facebook page. She didn't think (because first thing in the morning is not this little owl's best deep-thinking time) to check her author-business page. And so she went about her day.
After a busy-strawberry-contamination-crisis-management-PR-workaday (in which the little owl discovered strawberry growers are brave and the Prime Minister calls himself "Sco-Mo") the little owl checked her Facebook notifications. In the list was a new type of notification she'd not seen before. It showed her story views. The little owl stared. She said a little owl prayer. She tapped. There, gloriously, was her mighty-just-woken-up-first-thing-in-the-morning-photo. (The day's second wake-up splashing from the cosmic cold water bucket was icy.) She tapped. Deleted. And blushed as red as a tomato.