It's been a tough decade-and-a-half for me and my wife Kelly. After our college years and Kelly's pregnancy scare, which led to our shotgun wedding in Las Vegas, I got a job selling used cars in Burbank and Kelly started teaching Kindergarten at Bo Jackson Primary School right outside of town. It might not sound like much, but those lean years were probably the happiest of our lives. We were in our early twenties, living in a little one-bedroom and eating tofu chicken three times a week. But, truth be told, we worked hard and played hard, and our sex life had never been better.

Years went by, friends got married and had kids or moved to the suburbs, my best friend Screech died of a painkiller overdose, and my cellphones got smaller as my hairline got taller. I was promoted to General Manager at the car dealership, and Kelly started going to night school to get her MBA. We got a mortgage and upsized to a nice little ranch-style house in South Pasadena and, a few years back, things really started to look up. Then, as my 35th birthday approached, something suddenly went wrong. Kelly and I were getting hot and heavy one night and then...nothing. My groin and brain had cut off the connection and my noodle was as limp as a bowl of Chef Boyardee.

I was impotent.