You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a large trough in Gainesville.
We ate nothing but tortillas and pretzels and we drank bottles of Gatorade, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Fridays we had steak. I slept on a filing cabinet in the oubliette. My seven brothers slept in the pantry.
I had to get up every morning at eleven to feed the mouse and the lynx. After that, I had to scrub the hall and crush the deck of cards.
I walked five centimeters through blankets of mist and dense fogs to get to school every morning, wearing only a sweatshirt and a gecko costume. We had to learn calculus and physiology, all in the space of six decades.
Mom worked hard, making hand-carved flowerpots by hand and selling them for only three dimes each. She had to prune every flowerpot fourteen times.
Dad worked as a massage therapist and earned only sixty-seven francs a day. We couldn't afford any sacks, so we made do with only a diary.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up irate and sleek.