Men, listen. I understand you don’t love sharing your fries with your wives and significant others. Nobody wants to share their fries.

Nobody.

I get it. You’re like, “It’s not my fault you ordered a salad with a squeeze of lemon on the side. I had the courage to order a burger and fries after making a lifelong commitment to the keto diet three days ago. You know how much courage it took me to order the highest carb and calorie meal on the menu? You lacked the courage with your sad lemon salad. Not my problem.”

I hear you.

But now you need to hear me.

First: For a woman, calories don’t count when they’re on someone else’s plate. Never have, never will. And you are depriving us of an incredible opportunity to eat our favorite foods without having to log it on My Fitness Pal.

Second: It’s been scientifically proven that, for a woman, food we did not make or prepare tastes 1,000 percent better to our taste buds.

So, you know that plate of Wheat Thins and off-brand cheddar cheese you fixed for yourself while we catch up on “Westworld?” Literally the best thing we’ve ever eaten.

Three: Your children came out of our vaginas. An onion ring is a bare minimum sacrifice.

Four: Order double.

If you’re going through the drive-thru and ask us if we want anything, the answer is a firm no. Like we want to eat that high calorie, processed food poison!

Unless, of course, you order your meal and you hand us the bag in the passenger seat. In which case, refer to point one.

I think for love to be truly real, there’s that beautiful element of sacrifice, back and forth, to and fro, in and in-between the two of us. Including, but not limited to, me taking a T-Rex bite out of your burrito.\

We love you.

Can you pass us your pop?