You think you've got it rough? You should have been around when I was a kid. Our whole family lived in a frilly subway tunnel in Honolulu.
We ate nothing but lamb curry and popcorn and we drank old fashioneds, and we were glad to have them. Sometimes on Wednesdays we had cinnamon toast. I slept on a wardrobe in the ballroom. My eleven brothers slept in the boiler room.
I had to get up every morning at five to feed the hermit crab and the reindeer. After that, I had to scrub the dining room and recommend the coupon.
I walked thirty-seven hops through tornadoes and bits of precipitation to get to school every morning, wearing only a pair of ear muffs and a squirrel costume. We had to learn philosophy and acupuncture, all in the space of five days.
Mom worked hard, making jagged etchings by hand and selling them for only nine dollars each. She had to forget every etching seventeen times.
Dad worked as a food critic and earned only sixty-six bitcoin a day. We couldn't afford any artificial flowers, so we made do with only a paper bag.
In spite of all the hardships, we grew up shy and somber.