My name is Kate, and I’m a TaB addict.

It started out simply enough: a can here and there. Nothing big. When I was living in the Midwest, there was always plenty of TaB around. I’d share one with my friends, and once I even gave some to my oldest kid.

That was then.

Now where I live there’s no TaB soda. None. Nada. Zip.

I crave it, man. I dream of TaB. Sometimes, when the sunrise reflects on the ocean in a heavenly pink amid the white caps of the breaking waves, it reminds me of a can of TaB. Man, I miss that stuff. I always beg people who come to visit me to bring some Tab with them. “Hey,� I’ll tell them, “I’ll pay you back. I just need you to get me some. C’mon. Pleeeeeease?�

Some folks get it. My sister-in-law, for example, showed up with 4 12-packs in a spare suitcase. I was a happy camper, until I ran out.

Tomorrow Kelley gets here for a week. I needed an adult to accompany my daughter on her flight from Missouri and, since I have to buy a second ticket anyway, I figured I’d rather fly a friend out. After all, my birthday’s on Tuesday: what a way to treat myself, right? Kelley tells me she’s only bringing 3 cans of TaB. Three. Three!? Her carry-on is too small to fit more in. Man, talk about bummed out.

But there’s always Beverages Direct, right? Wrong. They only ship to the contiguous 48. I did manage to find one place that ships here, but for $35 in TaB the shipping was an additional $189.

So, I guess I’m going to have to resign myself to going through withdrawals. I doubt Betty Ford has a program for this, which means I’ll have to go it alone.

Originally posted on Kate’s site 6.3.04.

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