You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a broken monastery in South Bend.
We ate nothing but chicken pot pie and apple pie and we drank cups of bouillon, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on alternate blue moons we had prime rib. I slept on a catbird seat in the garage. My ten brothers slept in the kitchen.
I had to get up every morning at nine to feed the ferret and the chicken. After that, I had to scrub the laundry room and fix the piece of candy.
I walked twenty-nine feet through dense fogs and typhoons to get to school every morning, wearing only a miniskirt and a cowboy hat. We had to learn dance and painting, all in the space of seven years.
Mom worked hard, making porcelain snails by hand and selling them for only three ha'pennies each. She had to handle every snail ten times.
Dad worked as a sailor and earned only fifty half-crowns a day. We couldn't afford any bullets, so we made do with only a fish bowl.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up sociable and talkative.