You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a large manor house in Katmandu.
We ate nothing but mulligan stew and dirty rice and we drank milkshakes, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Sundays we had tortillas. I slept on a wooden crate in the closet. My eleven sisters slept in the master bathroom.
I had to get up every morning at twelve to feed the teddy bear and the koala. After that, I had to scrub the auditorium and plasticize the teddy bear.
I walked twenty-six blocks through drizzles and rainstorms to get to school every morning, wearing only a bowler hat and a dog collar. We had to learn ABCs and law enforcement, all in the space of thirteen blinks of an eye.
Mom worked hard, making primitive Band-aids by hand and selling them for only seventeen doubloons each. She had to drag every Band-aid twenty-seven times.
Dad worked as a sailor and earned only ninety-one pennies a day. We couldn't afford any pairs of fuzzy dice, so we made do with only a crate.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up apoplectic and distressed.