Kate Ryan

Fresh orange juice, milk, thick slices of ham, a block of cheese, a carton of eggs—her husband kept it this way should this moment arrive.

We all love our dogs. However, some of us take it a little too far, convincing ourselves that our dogs are actually our children. You call your dog your “baby” one day, and the next thing you know, you’re pushing him or her down the street in an expensive stroller. How did we get here? Trust me, it’s a slippery slope. Here are 12 signs you might have a dog-child.

Is flagging potentially offensive material taking the PC movement too far?

The Gap come autumn: where normcore and film noir cleverly collide.

It was a tradition of theirs. When siblings Sue and Johnny went home to their mother’s for Christmas, they watched the 11 o’clock local news.

She knows you’re not supposed to call it an “it,” but she honestly can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl or . . . undecided.

“Don’t you smash that cake in my face, or I’ll never forgive you,” she said, and she never did, not really.

Sheila applied widely and on a whim. She needed a job and she needed one fast.

My parents got the idea they’d send me to stay at my grandparents’ house in Florida for a week. I think my mother needed a week to herself.

I would send some chocolates, but I’m not allowed anymore since they found the shiv in the birthday cake I sent you.