Wednesday, December 28, 2011

The mystery of... The White Tiger

I'm getting ready to move in about three weeks (because I'm buying a house; you'd know this if you friended me on Facebook), and I decided to go through my clothes and donate or throw away everything I don't want anymore.

Imagine my surprise when, digging through my closet, I found a shirt I didn't even remember owning. And not just any shirt. No this one is special. This one is... The White Tiger. (Note: whenever you see an ellipsis, pause dramatically so you can get the full effect of saying... The White Tiger.)

... The White Tiger

How did this shirt get into my closet? I don't know. I would remember it if I'd bought it. No one in my immediate family remembers it either. It's as if it crept into my closet on its own, stealthily, keeping to the shadows, so when I least expected it, it could spring out like... The White Tiger.

Of course, that's absurd. Even a shirt as awesome as... The White Tiger couldn't do that. (Or could it?) What I really think happened is that someone (maybe my Mom?) gave it to me years ago, and I, not recognizing its awesomeness at first glance, stuffed it in the back of the closet and forgot about it. And there it lurked, hidden in the shadows, imprisoned, lost to memory and even legend, until one day I delved too deep and released it, and it broke free like a Terror of the Ancient World, like a Balrog of Morgoth, like... The White Tiger.

My life hasn't been the same since I rediscovered this shirt. I wear it every day now. And I find myself moving with a new confidence. I stride through my day now with a look of fierce determination, as if I were a Big Cat prowling the rocky shore of a river, as if I were... The White Tiger.

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