By Christie Wilson
Advertiser Staff Writer

Hawai'i has a love affair with T-shirts. Softball tournaments, concerts, family reunions, charity walks, company picnics, natural disasters — you name it, and there's a T-shirt to commemorate it.

I'm one of those people who find it virtually impossible to pass up a T-shirt booth at an event. T-shirts are great omiyage, and they make Christmas shopping for friends and family on the Mainland easy, since anything having to do with the Islands carries a certain cachet.

The problem with this predilection for T-shirt collecting is that before you know it, you're overrun with Hanes Beefy-T's.

At least with kids, the shirts have built-in obsolescence: If you can see their piko, it's time to trade up to a larger size. With adults, it's a lot harder to keep your T-shirt assortment to manageable numbers.

The oldest T-shirt in my possession dates back to a 1992 volleyball tournament, which isn't all that old in T-shirt years. It has a few small puka, but it's still doing duty in my just-knockin'-around-the-house wardrobe.

Generally speaking, we have five generations of T-shirts in our household:

• The newest ones that are used for going out to dinner and other special occasions.
• Those that are mildly worn but with no major stains, for going to the mall or other casual situations.
• The ones that are starting to look junk but are still OK for going to the beach or to your friend's house to barbecue.
• The puka kind for yard work and other messy jobs around the house. Some beloved puka shirts, worn to the point where they are as soft as flannel, receive dispensation and may enjoy extended life as a sleeping shirt.
• And, finally, the rags, which have a way of mysteriously reappearing in the laundry stream. As a result of this phenomenon, I now rip the old shirts up the middle to keep my husband from raiding the rag bag for something to wear.

He's a hard case, though. His job requires him to get dirty, so there is constant demand for junky T-shirts.

The man is incapable of grasping the reality that even if the bottom third of our T-shirt population were suddenly eliminated, there still would be plenty left for work and play.

I recently conducted an unannounced sweep through the dresser drawers to weed out the derelict shirts. A week later I found a shopping bag he had stashed in the carport that contained three T-shirts from Savers that were in worse condition than the ones I had banished.

It's become a game to try to sneak one out of the pile to retire it:

He walks into the bedroom to dress after taking a shower. I lean forward on the living room sofa, listening intently as he opens one drawer after another. Then, the payoff, as he calls out, "Hey, where's my T-shirt from the 1986 monster truck rally at Aloha Stadium?"

And this is a guy who can't remember our anniversary.

Reach Christie Wilson at cwilson@honoluluadvertiser.com or (808) 244-4880.