My Mom's a Hobo

Twice yesterday I was called a "hobo" by two of my daughters.  They did this separately, independently, each without knowledge of the other. 

I need your help here -- let me plead my case!

Sara-Grace called me a hobo for picking up acorns.  Observe:  Exhibit A. 

Aren't they beautiful?  And FREE!

Later, Tessa called me a hobo because I had a hole in my sock and my toe was sticking out.  Observe:  Exhibit B.

I didn't KNOW I had a hole in my sock when I put it on.  I discovered the hole later in the day.  I can sew it closed and it will be just like new (almost). Actually, I was pretty proud that I had socks and that they matched both each other AND my outfit!  That's a pretty high class acccomplishment, isn't it?

So I ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury:  I dumpster dive, I curb shop, I have SO MUCH FUN with my freesourcefull project -- do I really qualify as a hobo?  And, if so, is hobo status really all that bad?  Perhaps I should just be proud to be a card-carrying hobo!

Hmmm... I'd better be careful -- this could inspire a collection!  Bandana/stick packs perhaps?  Or maybe tacky hobo and clown paintings?  I've got it:  TRAMP ART!  No, actually, tramp art (usually picture frames and trinket boxes made from intricately cut and pieced wooden cigar boxes) is massively expensive.  Maybe I'll just stick with acorns!