You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in an ancient penthouse in Pittsburgh.
We ate nothing but brownies and Hamburger Helper and we drank cambric teas, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Mondays we had lobster bisque. I slept on a footstool in the dungeon. My eleven brothers slept in the dining room.
I had to get up every morning at four to feed the Doberman and the koala. After that, I had to scrub the attic and condemn the duffel bag.
I walked thirty-five yards through blizzards and sleet storms to get to school every morning, wearing only a shawl and a sundress. We had to learn physiology and astronomy, all in the space of ten days.
Mom worked hard, making tiny wrenches by hand and selling them for only twenty-four pfennig each. She had to stack every wrench sixteen times.
Dad worked as a doorman and earned only eighty-nine half-dollars a day. We couldn't afford any pictures, so we made do with only a toy.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up ungainly and coy.