Snoop is 50. I’m 38. F*ck.

As a Millennial, I am well trained to look for fault in damn near everything. It’s a self preservation mechanism that a generation of tech-savvy but exhausted people have created so that we don’t have to spend our days feigning happy that — according to the internet — everyone else is thinner, richer, happier, more fulfilled (with better looking children, higher bred dogs, and more pristine kitchens) than we are.

That said, Sunday’s half-time show was perfect. It was a balm to my weary soul. Remember when your favorite babysitter would come out of retirement to babysit after going…