Or at least, MY future, if I were a couple years older and made like $7K more per annum.
The vehicle on the right (future Gill’s?) is a slightly newer, slightly bigger version of the one on the left (current Gill’s). The upholstery is a bit less worn, has fewer holes. Even the backseat contents are more or less identical — one volume of middlebrow hardcover fiction, one jacket covered in cat hair, some reusable grocery bags.
The main difference is that Future Gill’s Honda $#!+box (“but so reliable!” ought to be the company’s slogan) has four doors instead of two. What am I to make of that? Am I destined to have friends, ones NOT appalled or terrified by my Southern-style driving? Kids? A carpool of some sort? (Heaven forfend.)
Anyway, I was a little freaked out to emerge from my doctor’s appointment and see this eggplant-colored harbinger of my fate. Tho’ perhaps I shouldn’t be, since it suggests that my life will remain more or less the same, which is about the best one can hope for in this day and age.
American Life: it’s about managing expectations.