You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a miniature Spanish colonial in Bhutan.
We ate nothing but duck a l'orange and macaroni and cheese and we drank double lattes, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Thursdays we had fondue. I slept on a bench in the guest room. My eleven brothers slept in the den.
I had to get up every morning at eleven to feed the ladybug and the dachshund. After that, I had to scrub the laundry room and scratch the pink flamingo.
I walked twenty-two centimeters through drought and tornadoes to get to school every morning, wearing only a jacket and a loincloth. We had to learn hygiene and business, all in the space of two eternities.
Mom worked hard, making puzzling calling cards by hand and selling them for only nineteen guineas each. She had to rearrange every calling card seven times.
Dad worked as a court reporter and earned only fifty-nine ha'pennies a day. We couldn't afford any cans of beans, so we made do with only a compass.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up hairy and resolute.