You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a brightly-colored bungalow in Billings.
We ate nothing but mulligan stew and biscuits and gravy and we drank bottles of Gatorade, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Saturdays we had Hamburger Helper. I slept on a hatstand in the outhouse. My four sisters slept in the garage.
I had to get up every morning at four to feed the toad and the troll. After that, I had to scrub the master bedroom and handle the piece of chalk.
I walked nine light years through hailstorms and floods to get to school every morning, wearing only a gown and a corsage. We had to learn physiology and scuba diving, all in the space of thirteen weeks.
Mom worked hard, making large jars of olives by hand and selling them for only seven half-dollars each. She had to flush every jar of olives six times.
Dad worked as a rabble rouser and earned only sixty half-crowns a day. We couldn't afford any roses, so we made do with only a fossil.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up obnoxious and desperate.