You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in an archaic monastery in Somalia.
We ate nothing but cherries jubilee and pot roast and we drank lattes, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Sundays we had hors d'oeuvre. I slept on a display case in the servant's quarters. My nine sisters slept in the basement.
I had to get up every morning at six to feed the giraffe and the sasquatch. After that, I had to scrub the game room and roast the rope.
I walked twenty-five millimeters through tornadoes and fog to get to school every morning, wearing only a sweatshirt and a veil. We had to learn subtraction and gaming, all in the space of four hours.
Mom worked hard, making mysterious spoons by hand and selling them for only eighteen half-crowns each. She had to patch every spoon twenty-nine times.
Dad worked as a secretary and earned only eighty-six haypennies a day. We couldn't afford any toilet plungers, so we made do with only a lemon.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up fearful and creepy.