The daffodil is a thing of beauty - a yellow, trumpety flower on a long, thin stem, that bounces as it nods in the garden breeze. No part of it is bristly. No part could separate hairs in a manner necessary to serve as a conventional hairbrush. It is altogether too bendy and soft. It also lacks the absorbancy generally expected of towels.
So daffodil as hairbrush and towel? - two impossibles that together go nowhere close to making one sound less implausible than the other. But that is my title. And this is how implausible became plausible.
It is all the fault of Four-legged-friend.
Or of me. As I supplied both weapon and water.
Shortly afterwards, one less-stinky, happy and very wet dog was in need of a towel.
Towels don't grow in gardens.
But un-mown clumps of daffodils do ...
Four-legged-friend rolled, kicked his legs in the air, writhed around a bit, got up and shook. He was very pleased with himself.
I wasn't at all pleased with him!
Consider the poor daffodil - pretty good as towel; pretty rubbish as brush. And pretty flat!
Bertie Baggins wasn't interested in daffodils. And he is never interested in water. He had an altogether different plan - to sit as far away as possible from the hose
or stand beneath the washing.
Thus he needed neither towel nor brush and the remaining daffodils were safe.