You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a flexible igloo in Botswana.
We ate nothing but ceviche and fondue and we drank Tom and Jerrys, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Thursdays we had egg salad sandwich. I slept on a wardrobe in the lounge. My seven brothers slept in the attic.
I had to get up every morning at ten to feed the Pekingese and the walrus. After that, I had to scrub the guest room and moisten the button.
I walked thirty-three inches through hailstorms and humid days to get to school every morning, wearing only a few bent rags and a pair of culottes. We had to learn reading and statistics, all in the space of six lifetimes.
Mom worked hard, making ridiculous Happy Meals by hand and selling them for only eighteen farthings each. She had to pinch every Happy Meal two times.
Dad worked as a busboy and earned only forty-four shillings a day. We couldn't afford any stuffed bunnies, so we made do with only a map.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up paranoid and menacing.