You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a sophisticated parsonage in Lincoln.
We ate nothing but brownies and pizza and we drank chamomile teas, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Wednesdays we had duck a l'orange. I slept on a table in the master bathroom. My twelve sisters slept in the porch.
I had to get up every morning at ten to feed the lamb and the hyena. After that, I had to scrub the patio and submerse the napkin.
I walked twenty-five millimeters through earthquakes and hot days to get to school every morning, wearing only a pair of ear muffs and a mortarboard. We had to learn traditional medicine and anthropology, all in the space of thirteen days.
Mom worked hard, making dry peaches by hand and selling them for only seven quarters each. She had to seize every peach six times.
Dad worked as a radio announcer and earned only forty-nine marks a day. We couldn't afford any Barbie dolls, so we made do with only a pair of knitting needles.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up wicked and cantankerous.