I'm not the biggest horse in the barn, but my wife of 35 years has always said I'm perfect, she's satisfied with me, and my size doesn't matter. Recently, a commercial for "male enhancement" pills came on and I said, "Maybe I should try some." She said, "Bigger is nice, but I like being with you." This really hurt as I viewed it as a comparison to men she'd dated before me. I'm so angry because I'd never compare her to anyone and feel I've been lied to for 35 years. I didn't speak to her for two days, and when she asked why, I told her. First, she didn't remember saying anything, then said she didn't compare me, and apologized. I'm still hurt and have no desire to be intimate. I need advice though, because I don't want this to come between us.

So, in a perfect world, the first time you had sex, your wife would've announced, "As man-tools go, yours is one of those little eyeglass screwdrivers." Instead, she pronounced you "perfect" -- a cruel lie. Worse yet, she claims she's satisfied with you, and says your size doesn't matter. Actually, it seems pretty clear it does, except it isn't your small penis that's the problem, but the fact that you're acting like a really big pinhead.

Your wife tried to be sweet, reassuring you, "Bigger is nice, but I like being with you," and you're acting like she's erected an altar in her head to The Big One, The Really Big One, and Whoa, Don't Hurt Me With That Thing. How dare she compare you to any other man?! Uh...are you for real? Sorry, to bust up your fairytale idea of human nature, but people assess what works for them, in part, by comparison: Bigger, smaller, better, good enough, hasn't behaved this idiotically in years.

Hey, Doofus! With all those Big Biffys out there, she married you. So, if you're not exactly big, apparently you're big enough. And, a little something else to consider: While most of the sex problems I get are from couples in flannel pajamas and separate beds at the 3.5-year mark, you and your wife are still doing it at year 35. Or, rather, were. Good move, sailor!

Adding to the ridiculousness, Mr. Dinky's little strike started with a commercial for something that doesn't even work. Well, that's not entirely fair. "Male enhancement" pills do increase size -- of the bank accounts, number of resort homes, and fleets of yachts of the people selling them. But, as urologist Dr. Irwin Goldstein told Nutrition Action Healthletter, "There's no pill, prescription or otherwise, that will make a penis longer." The good news comes from Dr. Eugene Fine, another urologist I interviewed a while back: "Most of the anatomy in a woman that's responsive to sexual pleasure is right at the front door. Just get in there and ring the bell."

Probably the most effective "male enhancement" is confidence: thinking of yourself as a MINI Cooper among men -- small, but surprisingly powerful, and great on the curves. And then, of course, there's not acting like a vengeful, passive-aggressive weenie when your wife's doing her best to let you know you're loved and wanted. Now, be a big man in the way that counts, and apologize. Be grateful that she knows you don't measure how much of a man a guy is by sticking a ruler down his tighty-whities, and see if you can't distract her from what a nitwit you've been with a little game of "Hide the salam--" uh, sorry...Slim Jim.

I'm a 20-something guy with a hobby of taking pictures of myself with female friends. Nobody objected in high school, and collecting memories of girls who were kind to me brought me comfort, since girls rarely talk to me. Now, in the workplace, everything’s complicated. Although some friendly female co-workers agreed to be in my photos, someone complained, and my supervisor said I could be fired for sexual harassment. I was depressed, and lonelier than ever, then I discovered volunteering. I began asking to photograph some of the female volunteers; some, near strangers, but 60 years from now, will I care? The following week, the coordinator said I was making other volunteers uncomfortable. She asked me to delete the photos, but I only pretended to because I’d done nothing wrong -- I’m just a normal guy taking photos with female friends. Now she says I can’t bring my camera to future events. How do I continue without getting in trouble?

“I’m just a normal guy who enjoys collecting fingernail clippings to remember women who’ve been nice to me. Uh…‘Scuse me, ma’am. I know you don’t know me, but would you mind if I took a swab of your DNA?”

Quit kidding yourself. You aren’t making friends, you’re gathering specimens. You call this a “hobby of taking pictures,” and refer to yourself as “just a normal guy.” Sorry, but “normal” is going home to a wife or girlfriend, not a picture of a girl sitting next to you at a bus stop in college. And I say this as somebody who’s quick to precede “normal” with “boringly,” and who sees “everybody’s doing it” as no reason everybody else should be doing it, too. The problem is, women don’t find your behavior normal, they find it creepy. Sure, maybe they agree to be in the picture, but probably a good many of them picture it as a prelude to ending up in a 55-gallon drum in your garage.

If you like being a loner, fine. Go live with the grizzlies. Otherwise, cut the charade. Alleviating loneliness with pictures of people is like giving a homeless guy a picture of a cheeseburger, and telling him, “I’ll be back later with a picture of an apartment!” Your problem isn’t that you might get rejected but that you absolutely refuse to be. Yes, but what if some girl laughs at you or tells you to bug off? What if? Ball lightning will not rise from the floor tile and reduce you to a pile of ash. Lock up the camera and make yourself talk to 100 people, men and women, and you’ll see. It’s really pretty simple. Express interest. Ask people about themselves, and not just if they’d mind standing a little more to the left.

This little program is sure to start out hard and unfun. But, is being blown off, or the mere prospect of it, really so devastating that it’s less painful to sentence yourself to 60-plus years of creeping over photos of the life you wish you’d had? There are some real dorks out there who have wives, friends, and girlfriends (some, all at the same time). The difference between you and them? They had the guts to try to mouth-breathe their way into the girls’ lives. If you’re going to try, you’d better hop to it. Creepy at 23 can be adorably awkward, and is probably fixable. Creepy at 43 is probably permanent, which isn’t to say there’s no hope for friends or girlfriends -- providing you aren’t too lazy to inflate them.

I met a guy a little over seven weeks ago. Days later, we were hanging out constantly, sharing life stories, and sleeping together. I began to “fall” but didn’t say anything about love because he didn't. Finally, on a trip, we had a talk about how we felt. I explained that I wouldn’t have slept with him more than once if I didn’t see a future for us. He said he couldn’t BEGIN to think of “love” for many months and isn’t very verbally demonstrative anyway. He basically wants to see where this goes, and thinks I'm kinda nuts for “moving so fast.” Yet, every boyfriend I’ve had said he loved me within a couple weeks of sleeping together. I feel sleazy for sleeping with a man five days a week and never saying more than “Have a nice day” afterward. Am I headed for disaster?

There’s falling in love and there’s trying to have yourself shot out of a cannon into it.

Too bad human emotion doesn’t run on a bus schedule: “Let’s see…two weeks, you love me, seven weeks, you let me measure you for your cage.” Out here in the confines of the real world, loving somebody takes actually knowing them, otherwise, what are you actually loving? Hmmm…perhaps how well they fit into your plan to retire from dating and settle down with that special anybody?

The way you put it -- “I wouldn’t have slept with him more than once if I didn’t see a future for us” -- that thing down there must only look like a vagina; it’s really a crystal ball. Seven weeks in, you know him, really, really well -- just not well enough to have even an inkling of his approach to relationships: waiting until he develops some depth of feeling for a woman before committing to more than dinner plans for week eight. In other words, the guy seems to be looking for something real, as opposed to something real fast. Jeez, what a jerk!

Midway through a seven-week sex marathon, it’s a little late to inform a guy of the house rule: Only the first bagging is free. If sex that may turn out to be, well, casual, rather than formal, leaves you feeling gypped, you should end dates with a long, steamy handshake. Since you’re a bit beyond that now, the thing that should be giving you pause is not what’s probably a sincere “Have a nice day,” but how you bought into all those week two “I love you’s” from boyfriends past. After all, if saying “I love you” means two people have a future together, how come you and all those other guys seem to be having a future apart?

This guy doesn’t sound like he’s cold, withholding, or scampering off to the bar to “Have a nice day” with your replacement. Why push him in that direction? It’s understandable that you feel a need for “security,” but you can’t contract out for it; it has to come from within. Also, lobbying to hear those “three little words” may cause you to miss those other three little words, “Are you cold?” Or, those fourteen little words, “How about I come over this weekend and sand and refinish your hardwood floors?” (You say tomato, he shows you a tomahto…and who’s to say the talkier way is right?) It’s okay to be looking for love, but for best results, remember to actually look, and not like you would for a suitcase nuke that’s about to take out Cleveland.

I've always gotten terrible crushes on exciting, ambitious, bold men who never want anything to do with me. I gambled that being with a good, reliable man would cure me of my pointless crushes, and married my best friend. He’s in love with me, and I love him as a friend and figured I’d grow to love him as a husband. Besides, I want kids and I’m short on time. On a recent business trip, I met a man with everything I’m attracted to; for example, big manly shoulders, a confident bearing, and wit. My husband’s the opposite, pulling his shoulders forward like he’s trying to hide his head between them. While he’s funny, he’s timid and socially awkward, and only mutters witticisms under his breath. Luckily, the new man doesn’t threaten my marriage, but only because he doesn’t want kids. My husband sensed something was up, and now worries whenever I travel. Could I eventually develop an attraction to my husband? I’d hate to lose my best friend over this.

I love asking couples how they got together, but, in your case, I’ll guess: “I just got super-tired of drunk-dialing business executives (I mean, they all eventually block my number), and at that moment, I happened to glance at my watch, and went, ‘Holy moly, I need sperm!’”

Some women marry for money and position; you married to avoid self-examination. On a practical level, this is like curing bleeding gums by buying a new lip liner. No, never mind asking the obvious, “How come I keep throwing myself at all these Big Men who show little interest in me?” Instead, you “gambled” by marrying the man you consider a stoop-shouldered loser of a “best friend” -- hoping that you could love him as a stoop-shouldered loser of a husband. Perhaps you haven’t heard, but best friendship is supposed to mean you’d do almost anything for somebody, not almost anything to them.

Regarding your desire to have kids, don’t be too quick to consider your diaphragm a quaint souvenir. You don’t just “have” children, you actually have to parent them. There’s more to this than the thrill of dressing your little girl as your tiny clone; namely, 20-plus years of sacrificing your needs for those of your spawn. If that doesn’t dissuade you, sample parenting’s demands by moving in for a week with a family with young children -- like my neighbors, who haven’t eaten at a restaurant that has waiters instead of clowns for the better part of a decade. If you’re honest, maybe you’ll admit that your urge to have adorable little things running around would be better served by dressing your dog up as Pocahontas.

Could you eventually develop an attraction to your husband? Sure you could, if you divorce this husband and marry one you’re attracted to. Of course, that guy’s bound to be unsuitable in his own special way. And isn’t that the point of all the supposed “pointlessness”? You aren’t so much looking for love as you’re trying to look like you’re looking for love; probably because you’re terrified of rejection. Until you work through that, avoid committing to more than a time and place for pointless sex. And while, in yet another outpouring of concern for your needs, you say you’d hate to lose your “best friend” over this, it’s probably the sweetest, kindest thing you could do. Who knows, the guy might stand up a little straighter for a woman who marries him because she can’t keep her hands off him -- not because she can’t keep her hands off firemen, police chiefs, loggers, astronauts, corporate presidents, and broad-shouldered traveling salesmen.