Two days ago I wrote about the loss and recovery of my favorite comb, which I named “default blackie.” Nicely average-sized and bendable or, if you will, agreeably rubbery. And yet if I was being 100% honest I would’ve admitted that blackie isn’t quite small enough — my ideal size is around 75% or 80% of that dimension.
This morning I was cleaning our outdoor sunporch area, which involved removing all the plants and sweeping up the residue. Lo and behold I discovered a muddy, gunky, slime-covered junior-sized blackie, which had probably been out there for years. Tatiana saw my expression and cried out, “Oh, no, don’t do theese!”
A half-hour later I was scrubbing the rescue comb with a bristle brush, liquid soap and scalding hot water, over and over. Now it’s as good as new. I know this sounds like a minor incident within the great scheme, but it felt like an excellent thing.