You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a soft Cape Cod in Cuba.
We ate nothing but biscuits and gravy and steak and we drank cups of bouillon, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on alternate blue moons we had lobster bisque. I slept on an armoire in the patio. My eight brothers slept in the patio.
I had to get up every morning at seven to feed the ladybug and the opossum. After that, I had to scrub the master bathroom and measure the sack of potatoes.
I walked eight jumps through earthquakes and hot, sunny days to get to school every morning, wearing only a heavy layer of makeup and a bathrobe. We had to learn musicianship and medicine, all in the space of twenty minutes.
Mom worked hard, making loose berets by hand and selling them for only twelve dimes each. She had to flatten every beret nine times.
Dad worked as a choir director and earned only forty-seven cents a day. We couldn't afford any paintbrushes, so we made do with only a cane.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up prissy and paranoid.