I don’t get out much. When I do, more often than not I’ll be covered in dust, mud, grime, or some combination thereof by the end of it.
Working in town from time to time gives me the opportunity to dress in clothes that normally languish in the closet. Although wearing my grandma’s pants gets me plenty of funny looks, I stand by my choice: grandma had impeccable taste in clothing and fabrics (and food, for that matter).
Spending a lot of time by myself also means that I frequently succumb to the compulsion to fiddle with my hair.