I'm leaning toward Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak as the story of my life. Sendak's book shows a youngster who terrorizes the house and is sent to his room without supper. It ends with him waking to find: "his supper waiting for him – and it was still hot." That's my story. I've been treated better than I deserve.
I suppose there are a few rags to riches stories and maybe a Cinderella or Aladdin story out there somewhere. But for me, it's just a quiet tale of a warm meal at the end of the day. And I'm grateful.