You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a hand-painted house in Rome.
We ate nothing but fried chicken and ravioli and we drank glasses of milk, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Thursdays we had roast turkey. I slept on an overstuffed chair in the lounge. My nine sisters slept in the dining room.
I had to get up every morning at three to feed the mink and the yeti. After that, I had to scrub the front porch and hide the notebook.
I walked nineteen inches through earthquakes and snowstorms to get to school every morning, wearing only a gunny sack and a pair of shoes. We had to learn bricklaying and dance, all in the space of four lifetimes.
Mom worked hard, making valuable pails by hand and selling them for only six shillings each. She had to nuke every pail eighteen times.
Dad worked as a therapist and earned only eighteen pennies a day. We couldn't afford any canes, so we made do with only a teapot.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up deadly and naïve.