Hey Gang,
In watching Lamar Trask's feckless attempts to win the affections of the fetching and nubile Roxanne Drew, I'm reminded of a recent TV commercial for Just For Men hair coloring.
In the commercial, we see former NY Met first baseman Keith Hernandez and former NY Knick guard Walt "Clyde" Frazier providing play-by-play commentary on the "action" at a trendy New York singles bar. A guy, with graying hair and beard, approaches a beautiful, young woman at the bar and says hello. The woman takes one look at the fellow's Phil Donahue-like "hair style" and gives him the quick brush-off.
"Ree-jected!" both announcers exclaim. "Clyde, that's got to hurt," opines Hernandez. To which the always alliterative "Clyde" Frazier responds, "Yeah, no play for Mr. Gray!"
The reason that I mention this somewhat amusing commercial, is that it reminds me of the love-starved Lamar Trask's pathetic attempts to "woo" Ms. Drew.
Lamar should realize that these May-December relationships rarely work out. Let's face it, Lamar is a guy in, at least, in his mid-forties (and he looks it with those graying sideburns!). And, the lovely Roxanne Drew is a lovely, young lady of maybe twenty-five years or so. What can they possibly have in common?
You don't have to be Nostradamus or Joyce Jillson to predict that the romance between the forty-something Demi Moore and the twenty-something Ashton Kutcher is probably not going to make it.
Similarly, you didn't have to be "Sex and the City's" romance columnist, Carrie Bradshaw, to know full well, that the fifty-something Bill and the then barely-twenty-something Monica, were not destined to join the ranks of such great romantic couples of Napoleon and Josephine, and J.Lo and Ben, IMHO.
So, maybe Lamar should forget about pursuing Roxanne and look for a nice lady in his own age range. In fact, you know, how you see that other guy with the gray hair, interfacing via the internet (and "fibbing'"about his hair color), with that beautiful, dark-haired woman before a date? Well, maybe Lamar could "interface," via the mail, with some very nice lady mortician.
I can see it now, Lamar and the lady mortician (aptly named Prunella Wockenfuss) schmoozzing over a couple of hot toddies on their first date at the Eagle Tavern.
"Well, Prunella, where do we go from here?" inquires the smitten director of the Trask Memorial Home, his hair now as jet black as Elvis Presley's. To which the charming lady "corpse valet" replies, "Your embalming room or mine?" Ah, romance!
