You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a bulky motel in Burbank.
We ate nothing but smoked salmon and egg salad sandwich and we drank chamomile teas, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Saturdays we had falafel. I slept on a dresser in the basement. My eight brothers slept in the billiard room.
I had to get up every morning at eight to feed the fawn and the ring-tailed lemur. After that, I had to scrub the workshop and lose the pencil sharpener.
I walked thirty-five inches through hailstorms and windy days to get to school every morning, wearing only a beach towel and a sport coat. We had to learn biology and obedience, all in the space of eleven months.
Mom worked hard, making frilly needles and thread by hand and selling them for only twenty-four marks each. She had to heat every needle and thread nine times.
Dad worked as an acrobat and earned only ninety-seven dimes a day. We couldn't afford any truncheons, so we made do with only a flag.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up lethargic and artistic.