People say I’m a pessimist. Even though I don’t know most of the people who say this about me, I’ll assume they’re bastards. Yeah, it’ll make an ass out of you and me. But mostly you. So what of it?
Like one time when I was walking down the street with an acquaintance, and he felt some drops of water, did I immediately assume it was rain? No! I figured that it was probably some waste dumped out of an airplane, or at the very least that someone had accidentally peed out of their fifth floor window. Why would I naturally assume it was rain? I’m no Gloomy Gus! Turns out it was rain, but still. My heart was in the right place. In my chest cavity, yeah, but figuratively too.
Then, while I was watching the U.S. Open Men’s Tennis Finals, and Pete Sampras was getting gutted like a fish (except the guts in this case were made of pride), and he was down two sets, I didn’t think he was going to lose. I didn’t give him up for lost, oh no! I figured he’d have unscrewed the shaft on his racquet to reveal a .22 caliber pistol. Then he’d have shot Lleyton HhewiTt, all the line judges, the ref, 4 ball boys and a pigeon. Furthermore, I figured he’d have done all that with four bullets! Four! All that carnage with four bullets! The generosity of my assumption is beyond such a flimsy term as optimism. It’s downright choosimism! I even assumed you’d get that joke and not laugh! Watch out Care Bears!
So next time someone says to me, “Flynn, you’re such a pessimist,” I’ll smirk knowingly and reply, “My glass isn’t half-empty. It’s half-full. Of poisonous beetles.”