You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a flexible dugout in St. Petersburg.
We ate nothing but fried chicken and duck a l'orange and we drank Harvey Wallbangers, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Fridays we had cotton candy. I slept on a wardrobe in the guest room. My seven sisters slept in the family room.
I had to get up every morning at eight to feed the crocodile and the swan. After that, I had to scrub the closet and plasticize the paper bag.
I walked twenty-three centimeters through lightning storms and hurricanes to get to school every morning, wearing only a beard and a musk-ox costume. We had to learn French and zoology, all in the space of three decades.
Mom worked hard, making damaged air compressors by hand and selling them for only two pesos each. She had to squash every air compressor three times.
Dad worked as a prisoner and earned only three pennies a day. We couldn't afford any pairs of binoculars, so we made do with only a kite.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up grizzled and anemic.