Chris Biscuits was ruminating on his blog whether his future-me would be a prat and it reminded me that future-me is my favourite Friday Night thought experiment. We ask: what are we going to be up to in 2040? And then we keep drinking beer until we get a satisfactory answer.

One of my friends periodically sends this around to remind us where we’ll be in a couple of decades.

That’s me, rockin’ the peach jumpsuit. I hope. I don’t want to be the other lady in the tights. And I definitely don’t want to be that dude.

Strangely, we are in America. Which either means that you have universal health care by then (because I don’t plan on being in good shape at all) or you’ve taken us over. Or we take you over and keep your flag because it’s jazzier than ours. Or we’re on an inspiring holiday. Whatever it is, I look forward to meeting that gentleman in the snazzy top.

I even made a pinterest page to illustrate future-me, but as with most pinterest projects it is only half done and does not accurately reflect what I wanted it to. So I am going to hash it out here for you all.

Introducing Future-Rollergiraffe

Exhausted from my years of tireless land conservation activism, single-handedly reversing anthropogenic climate change, and selling jam at farmer’s markets, future me is retired and living the good life.

Look at all that frigging canning. My family never ate any of it; I should have started on the market thing already.

I wear a lot of hats in by then. If history is any lesson, it’s because I steal them from the mother of the groom at weddings, but hopefully in the future I am sensible enough to purchase them for myself.

This is nearly an exact replica of a hat I stole at a wedding. Don’t worry, I gave it back. (KCS Hats)

I am quite fond of hammocks, but I currently live in a climate where it would be suicide to use one for about 8 months of the year. The other four months it is just extremely uncomfortable. So I want to purchase this hammock, but more importantly I want to purchase the front porch it hangs on. With cabana boys.

Glorious tropical loveliness. I am ignoring the fact that there would be giant spiders everywhere. (from hammocks.com)

In the future, this cake will be presented to me on my birthday every year. By the cabana boys.

Look, it even has my name on it! (from cakewrecks.com)

Current me co-owns bees, but future me owns a whole menagerie on a biodynamic farm. No, scratch that, my biodynamic winery. On my private island. Future me really knows how to live.

This is more or less how I roll (from marineecotours.com)

And I will still get around everywhere on my Pashley, because it is the bestest bike that ever was made in the history of bikes and I will be buried with it.

I expect both me and the pashley to be a lot more banged up by then.

Future me is also pretty unapologetic about dancing in the front row at jazz festivals, has a morning writing ritual, and does yoga every day. I am pretty goddamn awesome in the future.

I should add that current me is an unemployed house wife with a basement full of expired canning. But I feel hopeful. What does your future-me look like?


  1. I’m fairly sure I’ll be moldy in 40 years. But if not I’ll be ornery, wrinkly and hopefully totally blissed out on some good drugs, so I won’t care about the wrinkly part and if you are ornery enough they give you drugs to keep you from staging a revolt on the ward!

  2. Roller Giraffe,
    Can I have a piece of that cake? And I’ll take a few of these canned goods, please…

    Le future Clown would be pretty, and handsome, and good looking. His kids are obviously full grown, and auto-sufficient. By that time, I have enough midi-chlorians to be a very powerful Jedi, which makes it easy to be living a sustainable life as I just have to think about farming and everything does itself by a mere thought. We’re also friends, you and I, because I want some of that cake, but I have said that already.
    Le Clown

    1. So when the zombie apocalypse comes do you just lay down arms? See, I start canning and run over to my friend’s farm, where I am sure she’ll greet me with a shotgun on the front porch.

    1. The trouble with having an awesome future me is that I am going to be awfully upset when it doesn’t pan out. For example, if I had any forethought at the age of 15 (pretty sure I didn’t), I would have predicted I’d be a scientist on Jupiter with a robot dog. Desperate housewife is *almost* the same thing, but not quite.

  3. Future you sounds fun as does present you. Future me plans to have a cottage, scratch that, vineyard with pool and manservants (hubby will be with me, but still) and international travels is a given. I’ll grow stuff but someone else will pick it and can it. We’ll be too busy riding our bikes into the quaint nearby villages to pick up quaint cheeses and such, drink coffee and then good wine and then go home to do more of that. And travel on our private jet.

    1. Brigitte, future you and future me are going to get along very well. Probably present us as well. Maybe we can start up a little writers colony; I’ll do the picking and canning if I can use your private jet sometimes.

  4. I do hope you take over us, rather than the other way around. In any case, I’m looking forward to being your fellow citizen! One look at that jumpsuit is enough to know that we’ll be great friends.

    I believe this is my first comment on your blog. Allow me to take this opportunity to say that the giraffe is my favorite animal.

    1. Welcome! I have been reading your blog as well but have been remiss in commenting. I think the day when our countries join hands and adopt the standard issue peach jumpsuits will be a great one. It’s dystopian, I don’t know why.

  5. Hello Rollergiraffe, thank you for linking me. I’m pleased I could inspire n some small way such a great post. Perhaps the best thing about the future is the near-certainty that hat-technology will have advanced so far to make hat wearing an absolute cultural necessity.

    Also, I’m sorry to do this, but I’m afraid I have to…

    You got nice cans.

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