You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a prickly quonset hut in Chile.
We ate nothing but country glazed ham and egg drop soup and we drank cups of eggnog, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Sundays we had falafel. I slept on a chair in the servant's quarters. My six brothers slept in the auditorium.
I had to get up every morning at eleven to feed the dormouse and the parakeet. After that, I had to scrub the foyer and loosen the can of beer.
I walked sixteen light years through bits of precipitation and dense fogs to get to school every morning, wearing only a straitjacket and a Hawaiian shirt. We had to learn baking and engineering, all in the space of six seconds.
Mom worked hard, making rare tennis rackets by hand and selling them for only seven farthings each. She had to grab every tennis racket three times.
Dad worked as a tour guide and earned only seventy-eight half-dollars a day. We couldn't afford any dog biscuits, so we made do with only a Van Gogh.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up annoying and yappy.