You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a ruined manor in Augusta.
We ate nothing but tacos and falafel and we drank chamomile teas, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Fridays we had squash blossom soup. I slept on a hammock in the outhouse. My four sisters slept in the lounge.
I had to get up every morning at seven to feed the louse and the cow. After that, I had to scrub the kitchen and scuff the piece of candy.
I walked thirty steps through humid days and blankets of mist to get to school every morning, wearing only a jacket and a pair of gloves. We had to learn German and neurobiology, all in the space of fourteen blinks of an eye.
Mom worked hard, making brittle spinning wheels by hand and selling them for only two marks each. She had to interpret every spinning wheel four times.
Dad worked as a cartographer and earned only ninety-nine farthings a day. We couldn't afford any ironing boards, so we made do with only a pack of gum.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up maniacal and miniscule.