Listen up, ladies, it’s time to put your selfish notions about what you and Jason from biology are this Thanksgiving; it’s time to stop thinking about taking him to meet your family because this Thanksgiving, all that matters is that gelatinous cranberry sauce is ribbed for HIS pleasure.

Now I know what you’re thinking. “Oh, but I’ve just worked so hard this quarter. Oh, but I need to know he feels the same way about me.” Let me fill you in on a secret: he doesn’t care.

It’s not just that he doesn’t care, it’s that he can’t care. How can he be thinking about whatever you two are when we all know that come turkey time, there’s only one thing on a guys mind – getting to feel every rib, bump, lump, jiggle and wiggle of that mysteriously gelatinous cranberry sauce with sensory spots he didn’t even know existed.

It’s an American tradition, you see. Every Thanksgiving, men across the country just can’t take their minds off grabbing a can of cranberry sauce and ducking into the nearest closet to see if it feels just as smashing as it did last year. They’re hooked on it, like a – well like a guy who discovered what prostate orgasm is.

So, is he supposed to go over to your place and sit around a table eating chicken or lasagna or whatever sad substitute your dejected mother cooked up this Thanksgiving for an ungrateful family? All while that red wobbly-bobbly good stuff is going ungobbled back home? I think not.

So, this Thanksgiving, why don’t you give it a rest? This holiday simply isn’t about you; it’s about the unspoken primordial male desire to see what that ribbed cylindrical object feels like. Don’t try to intervene. Don’t be a hero.