I expect few have trouble recalling their first.
Age 15. Long-time crush. Same school project. His living room. Burnt-orange shag carpet, sectional couch. Members Only jacket, Izod shirt.
His dad in his chair, newspaper in his lap. Wet-looking comb-over. Professor glasses, riding low on his nose. After dinner, but necktie still on. Mom perched on her chair, back stick-straight, hands on knees. Smiling hard. Smells like fresh perm.
We're done for the night. Waiting for my ride.
He sits close, but doesn't touch. No one talks. TV is on. They're waiting for their show to start.
And then it happens. One of those commercials. Girl in tight, white pants frolicking in the park. Riding bike. Doing cartwheels. Even though it's - wink, wink - her time of the month.
It was my first commercial cringe moment. The first time I wished a couch could open and swallow me whole. And the first commercial I truly, deeply hated.
There have been many others since then. So very many.
Enzyte is high on my list of obnoxious commercials with their demented-looking spokesman, Smiling Bob. It seems Bob left his happy missus back at the clubhouse so he could play Santa at the mall, and he brought along his announcer with his highly italicized script of words to emphasize.
"This is Bob. Seems to be a lot of rumors going around about this chubby Santa. That's because Bob made a call to Enzyte about natural male enhancement. And what did he get? Why, a sleigh full of confidence. A sack full of pride. And the one thing every lady likes - the joy of a gift that keeps on giving."