You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a jet black trough in Zimbabwe.
We ate nothing but fried chicken and pizza and we drank painkillers, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Mondays we had jambalaya. I slept on a beanbag chair in the family room. My three brothers slept in the study.
I had to get up every morning at twelve to feed the pony and the chipmunk. After that, I had to scrub the auditorium and box the trash can.
I walked twenty-eight yards through typhoons and earthquakes to get to school every morning, wearing only a cat suit and a pair of false eyelashes. We had to learn sociology and astrophysics, all in the space of one week.
Mom worked hard, making original boxes of Kleenex by hand and selling them for only four crowns each. She had to understand every box of Kleenex fourteen times.
Dad worked as a quarantine inspector and earned only forty-nine stock options a day. We couldn't afford any packs of gum, so we made do with only a calculator.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up bubbly and stinky.