You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a cotton crypt in England.
We ate nothing but mashed potatoes and bread and butter and we drank glasses of apricot juice, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on alternate blue moons we had fried okra. I slept on a dishwasher in the doghouse. My eleven brothers slept in the guest room.
I had to get up every morning at nine to feed the wolf and the manticore. After that, I had to scrub the front porch and slap the plaque.
I walked thirteen meters through tornadoes and dust storms to get to school every morning, wearing only a loincloth and a cocktail dress. We had to learn citizenship and environmental science, all in the space of one fortnight.
Mom worked hard, making art deco whistles by hand and selling them for only eighteen cents each. She had to load every whistle six times.
Dad worked as a prisoner and earned only forty-one million dollars a day. We couldn't afford any apples, so we made do with only a bagpipe.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up weary and ladylike.