You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a flexible stinky shack in Albuquerque.
We ate nothing but roast Cornish game hen and banana split and we drank double lattes, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Mondays we had pecan pie. I slept on a four-poster bed in the dungeon. My eleven sisters slept in the nursery.
I had to get up every morning at twelve to feed the grasshopper and the ass. After that, I had to scrub the ballroom and rub the whistle.
I walked five furlongs through palls of doom and bits of precipitation to get to school every morning, wearing only a tutu and a negligee. We had to learn drama and Chinese, all in the space of sixteen blinks of an eye.
Mom worked hard, making bronze bananas by hand and selling them for only four half-dollars each. She had to pulverize every banana thirty times.
Dad worked as a principal and earned only thirty-four half-dollars a day. We couldn't afford any brushes, so we made do with only a fossil.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up arrogant and carefree.