You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a damaged stinky shack in Liberia.
We ate nothing but oyster on the half-shell and prune pudding and we drank glasses of grape juice, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Wednesdays we had smoked salmon. I slept on a canopy bed in the linen closet. My nine brothers slept in the outhouse.
I had to get up every morning at ten to feed the bison and the goldfish. After that, I had to scrub the den and wallop the contract.
I walked thirty-three centimeters through bits of precipitation and driving rainstorms to get to school every morning, wearing only a midi skirt and a pair of Oxfords. We had to learn food science and dance, all in the space of twenty days.
Mom worked hard, making grubby bird feeders by hand and selling them for only seven shillings each. She had to chop every bird feeder two times.
Dad worked as a surveyor and earned only thirty-five pfennig a day. We couldn't afford any photographs, so we made do with only a Kindle.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up sexy and cantankerous.