You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a decrepit geodesic dome in Armenia.
We ate nothing but hot dogs and refried beans and we drank gin sours, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Saturdays we had lobster bisque. I slept on a dishwasher in the salon. My seven brothers slept in the solarium.
I had to get up every morning at six to feed the dingo and the turtle. After that, I had to scrub the hall and shave the fingernail clipper.
I walked thirty-seven hops through dust storms and windy days to get to school every morning, wearing only a pair of briefs and a body shirt. We had to learn math and cowbell, all in the space of seventeen weeks.
Mom worked hard, making waxy hair brushes by hand and selling them for only twenty-four Euros each. She had to deliver every hair brush four times.
Dad worked as a bass recorder player and earned only nineteen pesos a day. We couldn't afford any bags of groceries, so we made do with only a toilet seat.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up hysterical and bubbly.