It wasn’t a bedroom, but the attic of the house that I’d bought with a former girlfriend.
The gigantic space had basically no floor, but only a number of large loose OSB plates that randomly covered about one-third of the floor area.
As Winter was coming, it needed to be insulated ASAP, so we decided to fill in the gaps with styrofoam, and subsequently all of the OSB plates had to be moved in order to reach the space beneath them.
And that’s when I found the 🍑🍑🍑 magazines, hidden in a grey plastic bag underneath one of the OSP plates in a far corner of the attic. The magazines dated from the 1970s, and they must have been secretly placed there (and occasionally revisited) for about three decades before we finally discovered them.
I knew the pervious owner of the house was very religious, and my guess is that this was how her husband (who had incidentally built the house) had coped with her devotion.
I met her many times (as a friend) after we had moved into her former house, but I never told her about the 🍑🍑🍑 magazines. It would have needlessly hurt her, and since her husband had died a while ago (in the very room I am sitting now), I decided to keep them as a secret in between him and myself, so as to endlessly entertain his ever-fading echo —
And make it happy as peaches.