My mother has always had a tea-towel hierarchy. Such are the ways of the rare domestic goddess hailed from the 1940s. Her tea-towels are pressed and folded to perfection and assorted in various piles depending on their social status. The Queen Bee(s) of the tea-towel assembly, surface at Christmas and special occasions only, where they rarely lower themselves to work. The mere wipe of a tea cup or glass is as much as any blue blood cotton cloth should endure. No, these elegant beauties are folded and displayed for the most part for all to revere.
