Neat Bread

I have watched Um Tareq every time there is bread from the government oven - at 15 lira a rabta the price can't be beat and it's also much tastier and filling than the more expensive siyahi bread - perform a ritual. She takes each flat piece of pocket bread out one by one from the government bag, makes a whole in an edge, uses her hand to seperate the sides, then folds the bread and put them by eights into bags for the freezer.

I have been told I should start helping around the house more. I occupy a weird place between daughter and renter. We can watch Turkish muselsels together and discuss the attractiveness of Asmar vs. Sameer, but I also stay out late and it's not eib. But I'm trying to help out in my gender-neutral way: going out sometimes to fetch items like a boy, and folding bread like a girl.

By first attempt did not go well. I imitated the actions, but the desired result was not acheived. I couldn't perceive a difference between my folded bread and hers, but each piece she unfolded and reopened and refolded.

I've gotten better, but the last time I finally thought to ask her why we were doing this. I assumed that seperating the sides meant the bread would freeze better and come out fresh once dethawed, not crumbly and crap.
"So it looks neat (muratab)," she said.
"Really? Neat?"
"Bread comes from the bakery and they've got these wrinkles. Like with clothes I've got to make them look nice."

I laughed really long, and Um Tareq laughed with me, asking why I thought we folded the bread. I said you know, the freezing process. She laughed and said no, so it looks nice.
"I open it and flatten it and get all of the wrinkles out." She then saw a wrinkle-less piece, told me it didn't need anything since it was already neat and pretty.

"But we're going to eat the bread," I said.
"yes, so it should look nice."
"Do they not do that in America?" No, in my experience, American don't care whether our pitas are wrinkled. Um Tareq laughed. Ajanab are weird.