You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a nice manor in Yakima.
We ate nothing but egg rolls and bread and butter and we drank cans of Ensure, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Wednesdays we had ham. I slept on a cupboard in the dining room. My seven sisters slept in the laundry room.
I had to get up every morning at nine to feed the ant and the pig. After that, I had to scrub the patio and unfold the etching.
I walked thirty-three centimeters through gales and bits of precipitation to get to school every morning, wearing only a cowboy hat and a pair of contact lenses. We had to learn cryptography and sociology, all in the space of one month.
Mom worked hard, making queer pails by hand and selling them for only twenty-two Euros each. She had to exclude every pail ten times.
Dad worked as a soccer coach and earned only seventy-three half-dollars a day. We couldn't afford any hockey pucks, so we made do with only a pair of fuzzy dice.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up ladylike and lethargic.