You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a charming park bench in Romania.
We ate nothing but chicken pot pie and ceviche and we drank Bloody Marys, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Thursdays we had prune pudding. I slept on a piano in the attic. My ten brothers slept in the dining room.
I had to get up every morning at twelve to feed the gazelle and the phantom. After that, I had to scrub the lounge and dislodge the piano.
I walked twenty-five jumps through windy days and humid days to get to school every morning, wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of overalls. We had to learn physiology and alchemy, all in the space of sixteen years.
Mom worked hard, making orange cigars by hand and selling them for only twenty-three yuans each. She had to prune every cigar nine times.
Dad worked as a matador and earned only eighty-three guineas a day. We couldn't afford any flags, so we made do with only a thumb drive.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up conceited and bad.