In Which Jenn is a Poor Disney Archivist

What you are about to see may hurt you a little. You may feel betrayed. You may wonder how I could possibly let this happen. I DIDN'T KNOW, OKAY? I DIDN'T KNOW.

It was the last time my family went to Walt Disney World, 1998. I was a mere twelve years of age. Disney's Animal Kingdom had yet to open its gates, ExtraTERRORestrial Alien Encounter was still a thing I refused to go near, and Journey Into Imagination was everything I remember it to be.

I had yet to splash merrily into the pool of thrill rides and I had not yet found my dodger's feet in the Magic Kingdom's oppressive crowds, but in Epcot the line for Figment's ride hardly existed. It was gentle, and the interactive exhibits at the end had an upstairs. It was glorious.

When my parents prompted me to pick out a souvenir, I settled readily and definitively on this.

I know. I KNOW. It's faded from years and wears and washings and I cut a slit in the neck because I hate tight neck holes. I have destroyed this poor poor wonderful relic of days past. And I'm sorry for that. I wish I'd thought ahead. I wish I'd realized how precious this simple memento was, would become.

And yet, over a decade and a half later, it remains in my closet. Maybe the only item of clothing I own to last so long. I love you, Figment t-shirt. Next time I'm in WDW I will finally buy those Figment mouse ears I've been eying for so long.

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