Recently, I was flipping through a local newspaper when I happened upon a quarter-page ad for a medical group that promised its clients what sounded like a complete sexual tune-up. I normally don't pay much attention to these ads. Sure, I may squirm when I'm watching TV with the kids and a spot airs about four-hour erections, convenient finger vibrators or inconvenient genital itching (yuck)--but, for the most part, I think I've become immune to most of these advertisers' grandiose claims.
So it came as some surprise when this ad caught my eye. I wasn't moved by the photo of a young woman reclining in her barely-there underwear; I suppose I became desensitized years ago by the veritable library of adult magazines of which my brother was the proudest of curators. Besides, I've tried and failed countless times to convince my wife to adopt just such a pose, so this seemed little more than a cruel tease.
The question, "Want stronger and longer lasting erections?" seemed too obvious. Who wouldn't want a length of organic steel pipe at the ready twenty-four-seven, especially with the specter of "erectile dysfunction" looming in the not-too-distant future? As they say on Law & Order, asked and answered.
The statement, "See results during the first visit" made me wonder just what would happen during such a first visit. Would a naughty nurse spilling out of a tiny frock greet me at the door with a huge bottle of lube and a pair of ribbed latex gloves? I doubted it.
What really drew me in was the advertiser's claim, in bold text, "Last 30-60 minutes." Given that my typical performance spans, at best, a long commercial break, I was intrigued. I imagined the joy that would accompany a 28-and-a-half to 58-minute extension of my quality amour time.
I tore the ad out of the newspaper and tucked it into my pocket. I started making plans for some future evening. We'd drink a bottle of wine and eat oysters while watching Titanic, the most potent aphrodisiac known to man. At the right moment, we'd have an unveiling, and then 30-60 minutes of pure, unadulterated marital bliss.
When I dug out the ad at home, and prepared to dial the medical group's number, my hopes, dreams and fantasies went the way of the dodo. At the bottom of the page was a microscopic asterisked footer, a hard slap in the face of the hour-of-power claim:
"*Results may vary."