When I was 13, my grandparents presented me with a hyper-realistic cake made of soap for dessert. I didn’t understand the gesture was for shits and giggles and went along with it for longer than expected. It was the end of the day and I was tired, accustomed to my grandmother presenting a new (edible) dessert each time I slept over. So only when my fork collected foul-tasting soapy shavings did I twig what their belly laughs were
