I’ll be 46, and hopefully getting ready to send our younger of our yet nonexistant children to college so we can go back to it just being the two of us, like it is now. And our beagles. I will be a long way from retiring, probably working in drug discovery somewhere, or teaching at a college.
You really think English spelling will take that much of a nose dive by then? 
I will be sixty, retired but woodworking for side money. If I have been as careful till then as I am now, I will still have all my digits and will have mastered the handcut dovetail, mastered the hand plane, and the power tools and will be creating works of art that will last generations. (Sure, most of those generations the curly bubinga will be covered in white paint but one generation will see the light. Maybe the light of the fire they make with it…) Mrs. Prefect will be retiring from nursing around this time and getting ready to travel a lot.
My kids will be well established in their careers, my daughter will be a doctor of some sort, and my son will be own a small video game development company.
I’ll be 67.
Cranky and bitter,
Or I’ll have been dead in my apt for about 3 years and nobody has noticed.
Nah, I predict that by 2016, the grammar nazis and the “Message board nitpickers liberation front” will have colapsed into ruin.
Like Epimetheus, I’ll be 54. Hopefully by then I will have met and married my future husband at least 20 years earlier. The 2-4 kids we will have adopted (probably young, orphaned siblings too “old” to place easily) will be high school to college age or just past, so maybe I’ll have a grandchild soon. My baby brother, who will be 48 then, will be happy, successful - the proud owner of a grocery store - and still close to me. My dazzling writing career will have surfaced, so I’ll have no worries about retirement. And even if it hasn’t, the baby boomers will for the most part have passed on, so the restructuring of SOS into a logical, sustaining entity, will have begun.