As I looked down at my T-shirt earlier today, I had a sobering realization: The shirt I am currently wearing is nearly two-thirds as old as I am. It's older than my sister. It's old enough to drive, vote, and if it survives one and a half more years, it will be old enough to drink. (Of course, it tends to drink anyway. And eat. Because I am not a very neat person.)

I've mentioned in this column before that I tend to accumulate free T-shirts. But what I haven't mentioned before is what they are and how I acquired all of them. After all, to paraphrase Tolstoy, purchased T-shirts are all bought, but every free T-shirt is acquired in its own way.

My favorite T-shirt has a brain with an athletic headband around it and was given to me in 1996 for being a member of the academic decathlon in high school. Many people in high school want to be a varsity athlete. Well, I was a (m)athlete, and actually captain of the (math) team. Some athletes carb-load before games. We had donuts at the math meets. Oddly, girls did not flock to my side. Perhaps if I had gotten a letter jacket, with F(x).

The most noticeable T-shirt I own is probably the one that says LOSER in giant letters on the front. It also has a man hanging himself, and on the back, it has an unfinished game of hangman where the letters read L O _ E R. Wearing this shirt is a test of my self-confidence. I often have acquaintances and even random strangers approach me and call me a loser.

The worst part,

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though, is that many people will think I am wearing an unwashed shirt because they saw me in the same shirt the previous day. In fact, I own five of these shirts. I used to own six, but I gave one away. The shirt was a runner-up (read: loser) prize for a humor contest I used to enter. I lost a lot, so I have a lot of shirts.

I have a T-shirt that says "Residence Inn," which is from the Residence Inn hotel chain. I received this T-shirt because I was named as "Resident of the Day," a dubious honor that entitled me to have my name posted at the entrance to the hotel, to have my picture taken and to be given a free T-shirt. I found this mostly embarrassing and, in spite of the free T-shirt, thought to myself I would have preferred to remain quietly anonymous at the hotel while preparing for the funeral I was attending, rather than have my name randomly chosen to receive this award.

Later in the day, I learned this honor was a prank by my uncle. He knew exactly what my reaction would be to such a thing, and so, when he saw that the hotel had a randomly chosen Resident of the Day, had apparently approached the desk clerk and convinced her that I should be the next day's choice. Every time we passed the sign, my entire family pointed to it and laughed.

My most difficult to read T-shirt is a shirt promoting the Dull Men's Club. It is a gray shirt, with small gray lettering and no capital letters, thus successfully communicating the idea that the Dull Men's Club is very, very boring. I was sent this shirt after interviewing the vice president of the Dull Men's Club for my first book. (They don't have a president, because presidents are too exciting.)

I also have a number of T-shirts proudly proclaiming my status as something I am not, such as a blood donor, an officer of the University of New Hampshire student government, a member of the Boston Ultimate Disc Alliance or a worker for ITA software. At least half of these shirts were given to me by my friend Josh, who is working to make sure I never have to buy a T-shirt again.

In fact, I've only paid money for one T-shirt in the last half-dozen years, because I couldn't resist the slogan on it. The role-playing group at my old college produced a T-shirt with a motto that summed up my lifestyle: "Tomorrow's Free Time Today."

Seth Brown is the author of "Rhode Island Curiosities," creator of GodToVerse.com, and is currently wearing a free T-shirt. His column appears weekly in the Transcript, and weakly on his Web site, www.RisingPun.com.