You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in an excellent crypt in Mauritania.
We ate nothing but cinnamon toast and omelet and we drank Tom Collins, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Saturdays we had hot dogs. I slept on a water bed in the kitchen. My eight sisters slept in the master bathroom.
I had to get up every morning at seven to feed the garter snake and the flea. After that, I had to scrub the cage and reposition the rag.
I walked sixteen fathoms through snowstorms and hot, sunny days to get to school every morning, wearing only a pair of Groucho glasses and a tam o'shanter. We had to learn baking and astronomy, all in the space of five seconds.
Mom worked hard, making gaudy plaques by hand and selling them for only fifteen half-dollars each. She had to rebuild every plaque nine times.
Dad worked as a dermatologist and earned only sixty-six stock options a day. We couldn't afford any stones, so we made do with only an iPod.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up selfish and phlegmatic.