More devastatingly, he finds himself sentenced to live past the Georgian era into the frowzy Victorian age, which could not suit him less, with its “sanctimonious” attitudes and “piety,” as he disdainfully proclaims.

Each year, right about now, I want to declare it Throw-in-the-Trowel-Week, as the aftermath of spring’s tender, joyous effusion goes beyond charmingly fuzzy to just plain frowzy and tattered.

“I was frowzy and unshaven and I get in the elevator, and there’s Betsy, coming back from lunch with three handsome men,” he said.

He’s ready for the national stage even if he’s rumpled and frowzy.

There are plenty of 20-somethings, after all, who can hold their own in the frowzy sweepstakes.