Who shops on Thanksgiving — and admits it?

Nobody — not one, single person in metro Atlanta — plans to shop on Thanksgiving Day. They hate the idea. Loathe it. Think it’s a travesty. Wouldn’t dream of forsaking hearth and home in pursuit of anything so low as a bargain.

At least that’s the high-minded tale they were peddling, when I set out to expose the creeping consumerism abroad in our midst by cornering about two dozen shoppers at Perimeter Mall.

More and more stores — Macy’s, Kohl’s, Toys ’R’ Us — are opening their doors on Turkey Day. Those that opened last year have announced even earlier hours. Yet again, the war to save tradition and holiday spirit has lost precious ground.

But no one, not one of the people I accosted, would cop to being the customer retailers are trying to corral by opening their doors whilst the turkey fat congeals on platters across the land.

Not Millie Kyle, 61, of Atlanta, who’ll honor the day with a big family dinner, followed by the opening of the family “dream box.” Last year, each family member put together a list of aspirations; this year they’ll open the box to see whose wish came true.

“We’ll talk about Christmas,” she said. “We have so much fun.”

Not Warren Phillips, 47, of Sugar Hill. He cherishes the day as a respite from the country’s madhouse, run-run mentality.

“I’ll be home,” he declared firmly. This is a day to “hang out, watch football, eat, drink and get in arguments” with those he loves.

So where were they, these 33 million rabid shoppers the National Retail Federation expects to hit the sales while their brethren do what we know to be holy and right: worship at the altar of televised football?

Was I looking in the wrong place? Not a chance. After all, this was a mall, a bastion of retail guile, where harried people ping-pong from store to store till they’re senseless. Already, holiday music was pumping from the Hallmark store. Christmas decorations were popping up, and Santa was waiting to take pictures with your tykes, for a hefty price.

But, no matter how I pressed them, no matter what journalistic wiles I employed, everyone I questioned insisted that Thanksgiving, perhaps alone on the calendar, should be shielded from the worst excesses of commercialism. Christmas, Valentine’s, the Fourth of July, have already been compromised. Thanksgiving stands apart, the last line of defense for our cherished American traditions of family, home and gargantuan holiday dinners.

“It’s a time to get together, eat together and thank God for everything,” said Evelly Dpaola, 64, of Dunwoody, who was buying some make-up in Macy’s.

OK, I get it. Nobody wants to be held up as the example of all that’s acquisitive in our contemporary culture. Even if some of these people were flirting with the idea of shopping on Thanksgiving, were they going to admit it to a reporter?

But I’m a veteran newshound, trained to ferret out the truth, lay bare human weakness, crack through people’s defenses. And I know what really sets any red-blooded American’s heart a-flutter: a 60-inch flat-screen, on sale.

Sure, online petitions are assailing the notion of stores being open on Thanksgiving Day. Sure, some stores, such as Nordstrom, are proudly bragging that they plan to stay closed.

But in this battle of two powerful human instincts — our desire to snooze, stupefied, on the couch and our insatiable desire to score a bargain — I’ll take greed over sloth.

So I pressed on. I looked out at those consumers eating so nonchalantly in the food court, and steeled my resolve.

Rowyn Hirsch, 16, said Thanksgiving is a day to sleep late, help mom with the cooking and then eat bodacious amounts of food. But she plans to stay up till the wee hours and then go shopping — the time-honored Black Friday approach.

Finally, I was getting somewhere.

Afsoun Askari, of Roswell, said her plans revolve around a special dinner. But she’s glad more stores will be open, just in case.

So she can envision herself among the throngs of Turkey Day shoppers?

“If it’s something I want, no,” she said. “If it’s something I need, yes.”

Need? Want? Hah!

Still, hers wasn’t the full-fledged confession my journalistic soul demanded.

At last my eye fell on Daniel Stephens. Twenty-four, sitting in the food court, working on his laptop.

“It’s a time for family,” he told me.

But I could see the wheels turning in his mind. He was going to crack, I could feel it.

He asked me if there were going to be great sales that day.

Oh, there might be, I allowed.

“If there’s a great sale on Thanksgiving … ” He paused for a second to lick his lips. “That could be enticing.”

Then he broke.

“If it’s a great sale, I might have to slip out to a store.”