You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a rough bungalow in Italy.
We ate nothing but borscht and cornbread and we drank doses of cod liver oil, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on alternate blue moons we had Froot Loops. I slept on a water bed in the kitchen. My eleven brothers slept in the pantry.
I had to get up every morning at eleven to feed the ladybug and the wombat. After that, I had to scrub the ballroom and pound the bicycle.
I walked ten jumps through palls of doom and hot, sunny days to get to school every morning, wearing only a bandana and an earring. We had to learn economics and folklore, all in the space of seven lifetimes.
Mom worked hard, making bent stamps by hand and selling them for only twenty-three pfennig each. She had to chisel every stamp six times.
Dad worked as an administrative assistant and earned only eighty-seven million dollars a day. We couldn't afford any pain pills, so we made do with only a cactus plant.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up obedient and sloppy.