You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in an art deco parsonage in Senegal.
We ate nothing but falafel and roast beef and we drank kamikazes, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Thursdays we had oyster on the half-shell. I slept on a recliner in the outhouse. My seven sisters slept in the doghouse.
I had to get up every morning at four to feed the duck and the cocker spaniel. After that, I had to scrub the conservatory and wallop the tube of toothpaste.
I walked nine meters through hailstorms and bits of precipitation to get to school every morning, wearing only a turtleneck and a tool belt. We had to learn social studies and carpentry, all in the space of thirteen centuries.
Mom worked hard, making fabulous blankets by hand and selling them for only four food stamps each. She had to tickle every blanket twenty-four times.
Dad worked as an Internet celebrity and earned only ninety-four bitcoin a day. We couldn't afford any stopwatches, so we made do with only a cracker.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up sober and repulsive.