Did you come with one in the pocket, or did you only want to see me? Either way, what am I?

I wait beside feasts yet I’m never consumed. A silent attendant where spills are presumed. I fold into shapes or I hide in plain sight. A small, humble helper in linen or white.

I'm a storage space, it's true, Sounding like an artist, through and through. What am I?

I am literally a stretch of cloth. I like to hang out and relax, and when you see me, so do you!

First four sprout from your head Last five keep it out of knot Together, O Henry wrote about combs, but could have been this instead It would still make sense and not change the plot