Out of the Closet?

My mum and I chat a bit. About this, about that. It’s always sorta been understood that my family are not “Glass half full” kinda people. Or if the glass was half-full, it would be of seafoam green soy wheat grass carrot juice that you didn’t want anyway. My family makes sarcastic remarks about pretty much anything. In fact, sometimes, I think we’ve pushed the morbid envelope far past it limits (I reference Brandi’s last days when her final vet visit was scheduled and the clock was ticking on her permanent vacation to the doggie farm. It is said at this time, my mum and my sister were known to call out “dead dog walking” as Brandi passed them by in her blissful – albeit very very sick – ignorance). Or at work, when Chantal mentioned that she had restless leg syndrome and I said, “My dad had that.” Pause. “And then he DIED.” I laughed darkly to myself while Chantal shook her head.

As mum and I chatted about some recent events in our lives, mum came to a sudden, stark revelation. We had been saying for the last couple of minutes, “well, it will all work out,” or “you never know what tomorrow will bring” and “It could be worse.” Mum paused at one point and said, “Are we closet optimists?”

Are we? Have we cloaked ourselves in pessimism all these years only to be unmasked as sunny, cheery, optimistic people? Those Silver Lining, Don’t Lose Hope, Let a Smile be your Umbrella People?

Shudder.