Ironing brings me calm. Smoothing out the clothes you previously dropped blueberry jam on because you were too busy looking at the person you so deeply love across the breakfast table. For a minute there, you had lost all sense of reality, and you even forgot to have your coffee and it went cold.
Whilst ironing the piece of cloth, memories of the days you had thought as unimportant, insignificant in your life, spring back, and you realise how meaningful they really were. And when you iron out the creases of that shirt he crumpled as he clutched your shirt and pulled you tight close to him to stop you from walking away, a feeling of loss invades you. You can’t help but think that erasing the crease is erasing the memory with a warmth you never asked for.
P.S What’s the point of ironing towels?