Comeon' Man, I just need one more can...

Hi, my pseudonym is Moxie, and I'm a Pringaholic. It started innocently enough, I reached for a can of Fat Free regulars and had a stack. They were good. Crunchy. Salty. Curvy. I had a few more, and then a few more...and before I knew it I was eating two, three cans a day. Barbeque. Sour Cream & Onion. Jalapeno. I couldn't get enough. Midnight runs to the dark corner stores of New Haven, prowling the Gas & Sip aisles looking for cans. "Where are you going?" someone would ask, suspicious. I'd be sneaking off to my car where there was always a can hidden. "No where!" I'd look guilty. I loved them. I craved them. I had to have them. But then they turned on me. It went bad, man. The cruncy, salty, curvy bliss turned to pain. Bloated stomach. Olestra sweats. Maltodexdrine drips. Polyglycerol nightmares. Hours in the bathroom, hiding my secret. I had to stop. I quit cold turkey. No more for me man, I swore. No more. I'd do good for a day, and then feel the call. I'd hear someone flip a plastic lid and turn--desperate--looking for the sound. I NEEDED THE CAN! But I held on. And I'm still holding on. I avoid the painful places...Stop n Shop, Target, 7-Eleven. I whisper my mantra, "Universe grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot crunch..." I take it one day at a time, but I'm hopeful. Someday I want to say I got the Pringles monkey off my back.