“What an amazing place you guys have here,” the young Optimist exclaimed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And why pray tell should I wish to suffer through an acquaintanceship with you? You are an optimist! Your doe eyes, your worn out garments, your personality reeks of frivolousness. Such an utterly cheerful demeanor is completely intolerable and shows what an insufferable excuse for a human being you truly are,” answered the Cynic harshly.
Eyes wide, the young Optimist rocked on his heals, stunned by the bitterness thrown at him. He studied the Cynic and saw that his clothes were well-tailored, made of the finest materials, and neatly pressed. His hair was professionally cut without a strand out-of-place. The watch on his wrist was solid gold and spoke of his riches. His language, both pompous and condescending, spoke of his education. For all his apparent wealth and security though, the man before him was as cynical as the sun is hot.
“Come now, my friend, how can you be so callous? I suppose that you have a point my wallet does not stretch nearly so far as yours but that does not mean that my optimism is uncalled for! Yeah, I daresay this is all the more reason for me to be hopeful in life! Look at me, what do you see? You may see that the knees in my pants are torn. What does this show but the days I have spent crawling in caves and climbing in trees, experiencing life to its fullest. My shirt is faded from many washes because I have so few but this keeps me light and able to travel to new places! Would you believe that this very shirt has hiked the Appalachian trail, has journeyed to the bottom of the grand canyon, has climbed to the top of Mount McKinley, and wandered the streets of Boston and New York City. Memories, my friend, memories! How can your fine clothes compete with these,” the Optimist rejoined.
The Cynic rolled his eyes at the Optimist’s speech.
“Tell me, child,” he scoffed. “What good are memories when the cold sets in? Can memories stave the hunger that haunts your stomach? Will memories give shelter from the elements? Your memories are as good as the dung that liters the sewers. Nay, give me down coat, a hearty meal, and a house in which to live and I shall survive, bitter though whole, compared to your wretched soul!”
“Hah,” the boy laughed. “When the cold sets in I can head south to where it is warm, traveling by day I will stay warm and see the sights before me! Why, what better way could I spend my days than by fleeing the cold and heading to the tropics?”
“Then pack your bags and leave,” the Cynic grumbled.
Ignoring him, the Optimist continued, “As for food in my belly, I would rather a poor Happy Meal with friends than the finest meal alone. How can one eat so sullenly and truly enjoy his dish? I find that good company improves everything around, cardboard nuggets included, by at least a bazillion (yes, yours truly has indeed copyrighted that number!) percent. That and there is just something about the thought of eating caviar or spotted dick that just turns my stomach. Though, I suppose if you enjoy the thought of fish eggs on bread or eating something that looks like a phallus with measles—”
“Now see here you slime-ridden, uncultured, maggot,” the Cynic began.
Laughing hard, the Optimist once more ignored him and said, “As for your house, what is it but a prison? It keeps you rooted to one spot, trapped, constantly doomed to return to its dungeon and carve out your life in one small, inconsequential place in this world. I’d much prefer to have my life free, to travel when I want, to see all I can, to experience what life has to offer. As Thomas Walker once said, ‘Life is better than death, I believe, if only because it is less boring and because it has fresh peaches in it,’ though truth be told, I prefer cherries myself. No matter though! Life is for experiencing and exploring not settling and rotting!”
Before the Cynic could respond the Optimist smiled brightly and said with a touch of wisdom, “Let not security be your prison lest you miss the wonders of life about you.”