You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a fancy nunnery in Wisconsin.
We ate nothing but mushroom quiche and oatmeal and we drank chamomile teas, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Wednesdays we had macaroni. I slept on a hamper in the oubliette. My six sisters slept in the closet.
I had to get up every morning at eight to feed the nightingale and the rooster. After that, I had to scrub the corridor and poke the magnifying glass.
I walked forty light years through lightning storms and hot, sunny days to get to school every morning, wearing only a gladiator helmet and a robe. We had to learn physical education and oceanography, all in the space of fourteen weeks.
Mom worked hard, making small statues by hand and selling them for only fifteen food stamps each. She had to certify every statue nine times.
Dad worked as a pharmacist and earned only four cents a day. We couldn't afford any buttons, so we made do with only a stuffed owl.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up spindly and urbane.