I’m about three or four in this memory. In the evening, my father helps me to take a bath. I wash my body with a small square-shaped burgundy towel, then once I finish and settle in the bathtub, I place my towel on the metal top of a gas tank adjacent to the tub. It’s the gas tank used to heat the water.
The metal top is flat and warm. As I spread out my wet burgundy towel on the metal top, it becomes flat as if ironed. Liking the texture, I start folding my towel. First, into half. Then into half again. This is the furthest I can fold. My small towel is now even smaller, and combined with the thickness, I cannot fold it anymore.
For some reason, my folded towel gives me a great sense of satisfaction. Its sides are perfectly flat from pressing on the metal top, and its shape is a perfect square. With the thickness, this folded towel is the most satisfying thing to hold in my hand. It stays that way until it’s time for me to get out of bath.