With Thanksgiving coming up on Monday, I feel my craving for the stuffed beast and pumpkin pie escalating.

I try just about everything to organize a Thanksgiving dinner, but there are no takers. My brother says he “doesn’t do the whole turkey thing”, my sister’s busy entertaining her own brood, and I am childless, with my youngest just having gone off to college in the U.S.

I drop my not-so-subtle hints to friends like” Boy, do I love turkey”, or “Save me a leg if you can” but that doesn’t seem to work.

At Loblaws, I lament to a complete stranger about my empty grocery cart while he hoists his 70-pound turkey on the conveyor belt beside my two apples, quart of milk and single Turkey breast -bone out. I’ve even considered standing at the corner of Yonge and Bloor to hand out leaflets with a request for dinner or at the very least, dinner guests.