Are You A BoBo?

What is the difference between optimism and pessimism? What makes us resilient? What gives our bones an ability to be BOBO like?           "Are you an optimist? " he asked. "I... well." Stalling for words, she shrugged. "Okay. Then if you can't commit to that. Are you a pessimist?" he asked again, the slight sound of irritation birthing in the back of his throat. "ummm, well," she slid out after a long pause. "Look, it really isn't that hard a question," frustration - or was it impatience? She felt the weather changing between them. A 'nor-easter' was blowing in. She tried to think. But the words just lay in the bottom churning in acid. She looked up, "Oh," she mumbled as she watched the expression on his face flatten out. She recognized the flashing yellow. Yield. Yield to the oncoming traffic.The air was getting colder. Without looking at him she raised to a half whisper, "For you ."  "For me what?" he interrupted. Quick, swerve. You'll drive right... "For you maybe."  "But it's so simple," he kept on not really registering her at all. "Either you see a glass as half full, or you see it as half empty." Silence. Long. Empty. Space. He rolled his eyes. They had been here before. She anticipating his reaction; what she saw as disapproval. He anticipating her inane non-response. More silence. Why wouldn't she respond - It was either one or the other in his mind. She sat. Head down, fingering  the ends of her skirt. She rolled the folds of fabric in and out of her finger tips as if recreating a child's game of Cat's Cradle... "Oh come on," his anger mounting. This was not funny or cute. She was being obstructive. He found her - so very uninteresting. She could smell his mounting feeling, his disdain. The words just stuck in her throat. She could never really talk to him. He did not want to hear her. Listen. Understand. Support. It was always about being ...what? She just did not know the answer.  He sipped his drink and asked the waitress for the bill. Her glass was still half full. She knew what would be next. If she gave the wrong answer or one he could never understand he would just dismiss her.  Her head was full and empty. Thoughts. She watched as the bill was neatly placed upon the table, hidden in a perfect black casket. "Say something," she told herself. She watched as he pulled out the credit card. "Say something, anything," she begged herself. She watched as he waited for the waitress to return. "Just open your mouth and say something," she pleaded with herself. She watched as he looked over the bill and began to sign. Then he stood up. He would not even look at her. "I..." he glanced in her vague direction. She struggled with the words. "I..." "You said that already," he grumbled as he began to leave the table. "I am not an optimist or a pessimist. I don't see the glass as half full or half empty..." He looked away and shook his head. Then he turned and began to walk away.

"I can't look at it that way. Don't you understand! I can't ever see it as half full or as half empty. I just keep waiting for that glass to be knocked over!"