Comeuppance was the name of the game at my surprise birthday party. First the world’s most valuable Bic pen was overnighted from Great Britain just for the occasion: revenge for my Montblanc demandingness. Then I opened a large bag full of delicious and extraordinarily fattening chocolate-chip cookies: revenge for my insistence that people bake chocolate-chip cookies to my exact specifications. Then I got a book that strongly implied that I am some sort of super villain: revenge for the fact that I am some sort of super villain.

And now you all have the nerve—the unmitigated gall—to challenge my very age!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Oh, this is too much. Too much.

Luckily, I am a saint among men and can overlook such a vile affront as if it never happened, as if it were a dust mote swirling in the air for all the difference it makes in the grand scheme of my life. La la la.

Luckily, too, Ricky Martin and I know where you all live and what cars you drive. And we are not amused.*

* Well, we’re sort of amused, but that's just from a joke Matt Damon told as he passed by on his way from the sauna. Watch your backs, America’s Age Doubters!