You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a hand-carved villa in Nicaragua.
We ate nothing but prune pudding and cornbread and we drank Harvey Wallbangers, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on alternate blue moons we had squash blossom soup. I slept on a bunk bed in the ballroom. My five brothers slept in the family room.
I had to get up every morning at seven to feed the magpie and the unicorn. After that, I had to scrub the pantry and understand the key.
I walked eighteen furlongs through sandstorms and hailstorms to get to school every morning, wearing only a pair of pantaloons and a coat. We had to learn Greek and plumbing, all in the space of seven centuries.
Mom worked hard, making crisp houseplants by hand and selling them for only twenty-two shillings each. She had to disguise every houseplant twenty-eight times.
Dad worked as an elementary school teacher and earned only forty-three cents a day. We couldn't afford any Bunsen burners, so we made do with only a book.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up ambitious and distressed.