A Wet One (Socks CCXXXIV)

Dyson talked about electricity all while the shower ran. Rar didn’t believe a word of what she said about electricity, but kept it to himself, not wanting to argue.
The shower stopped, Pretty came in, draped a wet towel over Dyson, put on a robe, and left the room.
Rar watched the ankles go by again, and expressed his admiration.
“The rest ain’t bad either,” said the towel.
“Must be a male thing,” Dyson said.
“Ain’t it great,” the towel added.
Rar couldn’t see the towel, “Who is that, Dyson?”
“A wet towel.”
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t have one.”