Growing up, there was one thing about my grandfather’s bedroom that nobody could explain.
Hidden beneath the fitted sheet, near the foot of his bed, was always a plain bar of soap.
Not a special soap.
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Growing up, there was one thing about my grandfather’s bedroom that nobody could explain.
Hidden beneath the fitted sheet, near the foot of his bed, was always a plain bar of soap.
Not a special soap.
When I was younger, spending the night at my grandmother’s house always felt like stepping into a different world. She had dozens of little…