The Coffee Effect

I never ever had a problem with coffee until I saw Steel Magnolias. Never. I had consumed it for years happily. But watching it with my mom, I asked what they meant by saying their dad's coffee had kicked in, and she told me that coffee makes some people have to poop.
Since that moment, I have been clutched in the grip of a psychosomatic poop fest.
I don't even have to drink the coffee anymore. If I smell the coffee, it's a gut clenching race to the restroom.
I would be super model thin, if the world were right and just, based on the amount of daily ass-purging I end up doing.
I swear the bulimics don't barf as much as I poop after coffee. It's not just one cup either. It's cup after cup.

If I gave up coffee, I suspect I'd lose my ability to void all together.

I used to eat at a place, House of Tokyo, that every time we ate there for lunch, we all spent the rest of the day crapping our brains out. It was a bizarre bonding experience with my workmates, I confess. We'd laugh as we raced to the restroom, chat between the stalls about WHICH thing they were serving us that was causing this horrific event - mainly food passing right through us undigested. But we never stopped going, the food was DELICIOUS, if poisonous.

We decided it was the sesame oil, by the way.

But coffee claims the place in my heart as my sole addiction. I HAVE to have it. I love it also. I love it sweet and creamy. I love it black as night. I love it with flavors and I love it with the hint of the citrus trees it's beans were grown next to.

So I won't stop consuming this beast that causes me pain and suffering with every cup, or with the smell of every cup, or with the consideration of every cup.

Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta go the the bathroom. BRB.

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