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."

And then there's the Cialis commercials featuring the couple holding hands while sitting in separate claw-foot bathtubs in the middle of a field. Most troubling to me is that neither of the tubs have faucets. How do they fill up the tubs? The poor guy probably wouldn't need a pill if he hadn't been hauling buckets of water way the heck out into the middle of a Kansas cornfield just so the two of them could bathe.

For a long time, Herbal Essences shampoo ran a series of ads for the "totally organic experience" women would have when using their shampoo. The commercials were something of a takeoff of the famous diner scene from "When Harry Met Sally ...".

Every time that commercial came on, I could be completely alone and still cringe. Who comes up with these ads? Don't any of them have children who watch television and ask lots of questions?

Then there's the commercial with the mother and daughter holding hands as they walk by the seashore and the daughter asks Mom what she should use when she's, you know, not feeling fresh. The girl apparently didn't watch much television or she would've seen another mom in a rowboat answering that same question from her daughter. (If I asked my mom what to do when I didn't feel fresh, she'd tell me to check my expiration date.)

Still, the television commercial that most makes me cringe these days isn't one for any sort of sexual or sensitive product. This one makes me cringe simply because it's so stupid.

I'm talking about the Secret deodorant commercial with the pit-obsessed woman - the one who flags down a taxi by waving both arms over her head, then when a taxi pulls over, she sneaks a whiff of her pit then says, "No thanks, I'd rather walk."

I can't recall a time when I've seen a police car parked in an alley and wished I could fling my arms in the air and proclaim my innocence, yet held back because my pits caused me shame. Those commercials have me feeling anything but compelled to buy their product.

I'm afraid it might cause me to start bopping crazily around town snorting my underarms like there's a fresh cinnamon bun tucked under each one.

Reach Karin Fuller at karinful...@cnpapers.com.