You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a charming monastery in Tallahassee.
We ate nothing but crab rangoon and candy and we drank margaritas, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on alternate blue moons we had prune pudding. I slept on a crib in the foyer. My three brothers slept in the hall.
I had to get up every morning at twelve to feed the grasshopper and the camel. After that, I had to scrub the porch and lynch the smart phone.
I walked two centimeters through drought and floods to get to school every morning, wearing only a diamond necklace and a pair of shin guards. We had to learn literature and deportment, all in the space of sixteen months.
Mom worked hard, making musty biscuits by hand and selling them for only eight pfennig each. She had to crush every biscuit fifteen times.
Dad worked as a drunkard and earned only eighty-nine nickels a day. We couldn't afford any flowers, so we made do with only a pair of knitting needles.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up idiotic and emotional.