Emily: At age 80, you will die lonely and alone from morbid obesity
My friends get things like "At age 89, you will die fighting the Interplanetary War on Terrorism on Phobos, a moon of Mars." I get a completely feasible one. Fabulous.
My first reaction? "That's ironic". Ironic in that I am a little (ok, maybe more than a little)paranoid about my weight. I'm not a little petite thing. I never will be and never (except maybe one unfortunate year in HS) have been. However, I'm also not morbidly obese, but do harbor a definate fear of becoming so. Genetics (aka multiple morbidly obese relatives) and a serious chocolate chip cookie fixation are working against me, and despite a general awareness and efforts at maintaining regular workouts, I am really a bit worried I'll wake up one day and be startled to realize I'm wearing panties from that store on Rt17 for women who've outgrown Lane Bryant.
It also makes me sad that even at (almost) 25 I still have some of the teenage weight paranoia. Maybe it never really goes away. I'm a lot bigger than I was in High School but I'm also fitter and faster (despite an additional 25lbs or so) and happier in general. Counting calories constantly really puts a damper on things that should be enjoyable, like birthdays (aka cake and ice cream, also known in my current life as 3pm).
On a side note, I'm not sure I've ever seen a morbidly obese 80 year old. Maybe they've all lost mobility and do just sit at home all day, unlike the morbidly obese middle aged that trek out for shopping and similar.