By now you may be thinking that I save all my unpleasant tasks for juvenile labor to accomplish. Actually, I save the worst jobs for myself, an example of which occurred this week. I have two upstairs rooms, only one of which has been insulated. Laura's bedroom has regular doors to access the sides and nice, finished walls.
The storage room has a hole that was covered with duct taped sheet rock, and a couple weeks ago I opened it up to have a look around. I was planning to do some insulating over the weekend, but after a quick reconnoiter I decided that the attic space had to be cleaned a little more before I could have anyone help me with it. See, way back in the corner were lots of papers scattered around. I didn't touch them because they had cat poop on them (NOT from my cats---remember the house had a lot of feral animals running through it for a while), but I could make out the words, "Forbidden Pleasure."
Hmmmm. Papers stuffed back in an attic, forbidden pleasure....whatever could they be?
This week I finally found the time to crawl back in there and scoop up all the poop and papers. When I did, I made an unexpected discovery. And yes, the job was as disgusting as it sounds. And yes, the brown stuff is exactly what you think it is.
The magazine I took for, well, THAT kind of magazine, was actually a "true stories only" magazine from 1932. The pages were too torn to find out exactly what pleasure was forbidden, but it couldn't have been too racy judging by the rest of the magazine. I also found some Lutheran newsletters from 1929, and a Saturday Evening Post from 1937.Most of the stuff was too gross to be of much use to anyone (you can't exactly scrub paper!), but the Saturday Evening Post wasn't in that bad of shape, so I took some pictures of a few of the ads for your viewing pleasure.
Someone forgot to tell the city of tomorrow!
If you have irritation from smoking, try a different KIND of cigarette.
Top of the line technology here! Electric stove tops!
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