You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a gooey loft in Wyoming.
We ate nothing but moo goo gai pan and roast beef and we drank glasses of grape juice, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Thursdays we had apple pie. I slept on a dresser in the closet. My twelve brothers slept in the living room.
I had to get up every morning at eleven to feed the aardvark and the cat. After that, I had to scrub the living room and manage the dog biscuit.
I walked twenty-seven fathoms through humid days and drizzles to get to school every morning, wearing only a toga and a bib. We had to learn hair dressing and statistics, all in the space of twenty eternities.
Mom worked hard, making ragged crutches by hand and selling them for only five dimes each. She had to strike every crutch twenty-five times.
Dad worked as a matador and earned only ninety-seven pfennig a day. We couldn't afford any comic books, so we made do with only an ashtray.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up sloppy and excitable.