Adweek, April 20, 1992, by Barbara Lippert
"Caffeinus interruptus"
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We're here at Cafe Torpor, where, unknown to Sharon and 
Tony, we've just exchanged their regular coffee, Taster's 
Choice, for a blend of Rocky Mountain oysters ground  with 
rhino horns ...

Just kidding. But after watching this pair in action for 
almost two years and through four commercials, who wouldn't 
want to do something, anything, to hurry them along?

It's a scary and complex time for dating, of course, an era 
requiring almost aerobic precautions. But we're not dealing 
with kids, here: These people have been around the block. 
They give dinner parties and have candelabras. Still, they 
keep at the oddest and perhaps most disgusting form of safe 
sex I've ever heard of--drinking coffee and passing a glass 
jar back and forth.

This is severe caffeinus interruptus, not so much a 
relationship as a Jackie Mason routine. First, she rings his 
bell and borrows his coffee, and he's worried the coffee is 
not good enough for her, but then she rings his bell again 
to give him back the coffee, but he's already busy pushing 
the coffee on another little freeze-dried number. So she 
leaves in a huff and takes herself over to a dinner party 
where again it's the business with the bell and the candles 
and the coffee. But then he shows up with flowers and 
interrupts everybody because he's busy giving her the goo-
goo eyes over the coffee, so she'll ring his bell ...

And on and on. By the fourth commercial and the fourth date, 
the restraints holds. It's implied they have gone out to a 
"lovely" dinner, after which she invites him in for a little 
you know what, and then:

Tony: Just one more cup?

Sharon: You, uh, said that two cups ago.
<p>
Tony: You know how much I love your coffee. Sharon: Then, 
(touching his hand) by all means, (looking into his eyes) 
take it with you  thrusting out her jar of Taster's Choice. 
(She raises her face in his direction. Freezeframe.)

Oooch--that's practically volcanic. I mean, I appreciate the 
19th century sense of time and propriety (these two, after 
all, are obsessed with dinner parties and cupboards and 
cups), especially in an era of such voyeurism and vulgarity. 
Still, there's a limit to how long we can be strung along.

May I suggest that the writers take a page or two from our 
newest novelist, a woman who not only knows her way around 
New York, Munich and Cap Ferrat, but obviously also has a 
real feel for sex? I refer, of course, to the lovely and 
talented Ivana Trump. Her red-hot page turner, *For Love 
Alone*, has just been published and is headed toward best-
sellerdom. The cover's pink design is set off by a fabulous 
raised heart-shaped diamond. (This is perhaps the first 
novel that also features a cover activity: Pat the Diamond.)

In the novel, the Ivana character is Katrinka, "a radiant 
beauty with vibrant good health and smooth golden skin ... 
and a touch of a little European accent." It's basically the 
triumphant story of her and The Donald until they have their 
problems. She divorces him and finds true happiness with 
newspaper magnate Mark van Hollen.

At first, like Sharon and Tony, she's a little squeamish. 
But then Mark, his "body broadened with muscle, not fat" 
clinches it: "Last night ... when I realized how much I 
wanted you, I told myself, take it slow, there's no hurry. 
But goddamit, I'm no good at taking things slow. Not anymore 
... I want you. I want to make love to you. And I can't go 
into that hotel without you!"

Next thing we know, they're in the limo and he's "letting 
his lips drift slowly up the tender stretch of skin." So 
take that, Tony. Katrinka knows that too much instant coffee 
causes delayed gratification.



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