I DON'T REMEMBER HOW OLD I WAS WHEN I WAS INTRODUCED TO THESE MAGIC BEANS. But, I do know that I cannot survive one day without them. These little beans have some mysterious quality that enables me. I feel more powerful after I have them. My relationship with them is like a sick kind of co-dependent love affair. If I have them, I am happier, more pleasant to be around, more productive (it seems), and more likely to show kindness and graciousness to those I encounter.

If I don't have them, I am some kind of monster. I experience pain in my head, lethargy, frustration, hot flashes, and anger. Do you know these magical beans that I speak of? You can find them at nearly every street corner in metropolitan areas. They do exist in rural communities, but you may have to travel 3 or 4 blocks to find them. The pharmacists who handle them work in small shops that smell so strongly of the beans that if you have not had them for a time, you may feel faint from just the aroma. You are likely to encounter long lines at the magical bean shop. The people in line are generally not happy, talkative, or respectful. The people who have already ordered their beans and are waiting for their delivery grow anxious with each passing minute. If the beans are delivered in a different order than which the order was placed, you may hear angry words hurled at the pharmacists.

I become angry on Thanksgiving or Christmas when the bean store is closed. I have even found myself buying extra beans the day before these holidays and placing them in the refrigerator so that I can have them the next day. I become frustrated when I am on a road-trip and I can't find any beans in unfamiliar territory.

These beans are dangerous, in my opinion. If you are addicted to them, you will feel a pull everytime you pass that green circle with a lady in the middle. If you are addicted, you know what the green circle with the lady in the middle means. You can picture it your mind, you can taste your poisonous bean of choice, and your mouth is probably beginning to water. My beans come on ice with a bit of half-and-half added to mellow out the flavor just a touch. My wife's beans of choice come hot with steamed milk and dash of caramel added. It doesn't matter, the effect is the same.

I have met many people who also share my addiction to the magic beans. Many of you reading this may also be addicted. In fact, every morning on my way to the office, I see some of the same haggard-looking people with grumpy faces walking toward that shop like zombies drawn to flesh. I see some of the same people leaving the shop with a smile on their face and a spring in their step.

I have tried to rid myself of this addiction. Many times. The same thing always happens. The people who love me and have encouraged me to try and succeed at overcoming this vice end up begging me to start taking my beans again. I have become so miserable to be around, that they would rather have me addicted to these god-fosaken magic beans than try and live with me when I haven't had them. I have considered being admitted to some place that can help, but it doesn't matter where I go, the beans are there. I go to the hospital, they are in the lobby. I go to grocery store, they are at the entrance, waiting for me. I go to a hotel, they are in the lobby. I go to the airport, and there are multiple bean shops!

I have given up. I have resigned myself to a life of bean addiction.