As we entered the cobblestone garden patio, wrought-iron cafe tables were sprinkled about. The melodious sound of trickling water cascaded down a column in an oil-rubbed bronze fountain, sending water rivulets to its basin. The French doors swung open revealing a cozy, intimate setting dotted with tables that were dressed in starch-white fabric.

We were greeted by an austere hostess clad in a vintage, black chenille dress. She escorted us to our table, set back from the bank of windows overlooking the harbor.

The sun languidly dipped on the horizon, sending fingers of orange and red hues to the heavens.

"Wow, honey, what a beautiful setting," I murmured.

"Only the best for you, Babe," he said, extending his hand over the table to cuddle mine.

We were sitting in a little French cafe bistro in the heart of Seattle next to Pike Place Market. Applauded as one of Seattle's Top 10, the ambience here was exquisite.

The waiter presented us with a bottle of Pellegrino sparkling mineral water, and we ordered several pupu.

"How did you find this place?" I asked.

"Www tres chi chi restaurant dot com, my dear."

"This is wonderful!"

The appetizers arrived, and my husband immediately unfolded his napkin and smoothed out the wrinkles.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Gotta protect the Sig Zane shirt," he said, grabbing one corner of the napkin and stuffing it into the front of his shirt.

I was horrified. I know that Sig Zane designs are unique embracing Hawaiian culture, nature and a sense of place, but my husband went a little overboard. What would people think? Here we were at a very chic eatery, and the man that was sitting across the table from me was wearing a bib!

"Look, Babe," he said, stabbing a piece of calamar a la provencal squid and popping it into his mouth. "I'm not going to stain the shirt!"

The number of shirt stains my husband and boys have acquired has reached a record high this year. Ketchup, grease, chocolate and mud are the culprits. I've tried "shouting them out" and "whisking them away" but nothing seems to work. I've stopped buying white tees and instead resorted to the darker colors, hoping to disguise any discoloration.

Early Hawaiians would toss their clothing, which was made from kapa, if it became too soiled or tattered to wear.

I've tried removing permanently stained shirts from my boys' and husband's dressers, only to have them discovered in the rag bag and resurrected by its original owner.

None of the boys is vigilant in protecting shirts from stains — with the exception of my husband and his Sig Zane aloha shirts.

As we finished our entree at the tres chi chi French cafe, I noticed a pallet of colors spattered across the front of his bib.

"Well, I guess you put your napkin to good use, huh?"

"Eh no matta if you eat at Rainbow Drive-In or a fancy French restaurant," he said, patting the corners of his mouth with the tip of his napkin. "Gotta save the Sig Zane shirt from getting stained."

Reach Ka'ohua Lucas at Family Matters, 'Ohana section, The Advertiser, P.O. Box 3110, Honolulu, HI 96802; ohana@honoluluadvertiser.com; or fax 525-8055.