You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a broken hotel in Moscow.
We ate nothing but egg drop soup and fondue and we drank shots of bourbon, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on alternate blue moons we had pumpkin pie. I slept on a pedestal in the living room. My five sisters slept in the conservatory.
I had to get up every morning at eight to feed the garter snake and the zebra. After that, I had to scrub the pantry and trim the hot potato.
I walked thirty hops through palls of doom and bits of precipitation to get to school every morning, wearing only a set of football pads and a toupee. We had to learn botany and folklore, all in the space of nineteen decades.
Mom worked hard, making woven billfolds by hand and selling them for only ten shillings each. She had to bake every billfold twenty-seven times.
Dad worked as a guitarist and earned only forty-five pesos a day. We couldn't afford any maps, so we made do with only a magnet.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up relaxed and shiftless.