I’m turning 34 in a couple of months, but one of the things I pride myself on is not looking – or acting – my age. I’m 33, but often get mistaken for being in my early to mid-20s. (It’d be more believable if I didn’t tote the dad figure with me all the time.) It’s a combination of a lot of things, really, including great genes and skin stretched tight by my fat. Self-deprecatory jokes aside, I...