You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a grubby barracks in Columbus.
We ate nothing but cotton candy and prime rib and we drank glasses of grape juice, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Tuesdays we had omelet. I slept on a billiard table in the master bathroom. My six sisters slept in the pantry.
I had to get up every morning at seven to feed the Dalmatian and the dingo. After that, I had to scrub the auditorium and gold plate the boomerang.
I walked twenty-seven fathoms through dust storms and pelting rainstorms to get to school every morning, wearing only a cat suit and a pair of jackboots. We had to learn physiology and Estonian history, all in the space of thirteen eternities.
Mom worked hard, making plain whistles by hand and selling them for only twenty-one food stamps each. She had to strike every whistle twelve times.
Dad worked as a scientist and earned only fifty-four pounds a day. We couldn't afford any flash drives, so we made do with only a paperweight.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up generous and repulsive.