Manny seems to like to get wet from my dripping dry and toweling off, maybe cuz he knows I'm then going to dry him, wrapping him in a towel, after I have my hair, and picking him up. He gets good snuggles and ear rubs, with a side order of practice being in a towel (might could use that at the vet's some day), and he gets put back down and petted just a little more for good measure. Just to show it isn't only when he's up in the towel. We did that this evening.
In front of the sink, after wrestling snarls worse than I'd expected, given the generous helping of conditioner I'd just served the streaming strands, I was combing it all downward, bent over, and flashed on some imagery from recent real life. Spent a moment thinking fondly of it, then moved to how discrete have been the bits of sharing of such "beauty" routinery I've had with my fellow women. Then the head went back to Katharine, as it has many times, and the wet hair wrapping lesson.
Mamma, I thought, though I never called her that, did you hang me out to dry? I must've been pretty young when she abandoned hope about, or interest in, showing me how such things might be done. Were done. By all those women in her family, her mother's family. Her sorority. Her world.