On the matter of this season's tee

The heavyweight cotton arrived last cycle. I had been waiting for it. I had requested a specific mill on your Earth's northeastern quadrant, and the weave — when it arrived — was exactly as I had asked. Not close. Exact.

The tee is 18-singles. Combed. Ring-spun. Enzyme-washed to the precise softness that suggests age without effort — the kind of softness that implies the garment has been worn before, by someone thoughtful, and was passed to you.

The print is screen-pulled in three passes. The captain wanted to use a faster method. I declined. The captain, to the captain's credit, respected my decline. The captain respects me when I am being serious. The captain can tell.

It is a t-shirt. It is also a garment. There is a difference. If you are reading this log and you would like me to explain the difference, come and find me. I have the afternoon.