You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a jagged boxcar in Athens.
We ate nothing but egg rolls and French fries and we drank fruit smoothies, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Mondays we had ceviche. I slept on an umbrella stand in the auditorium. My seven brothers slept in the library.
I had to get up every morning at five to feed the louse and the grasshopper. After that, I had to scrub the pantry and cover the napkin.
I walked thirty-five light years through palls of doom and blankets of mist to get to school every morning, wearing only a trench coat and a romper. We had to learn songwriting and physiology, all in the space of three seconds.
Mom worked hard, making multicolored brochures by hand and selling them for only twelve guineas each. She had to puncture every brochure eleven times.
Dad worked as a graphic designer and earned only ninety-two quarters a day. We couldn't afford any cowbells, so we made do with only a paperclip.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up generous and freakish.