I have a rescue dog, a boxer, who was badly abused before he went into rescue. He is a sweet and loving animal and he has come very far, but there is no way he has forgotten what was done to him, or what happened to him. It has taken me two years to accustom him to the stairwell in our building - the sound of…

My name is mrsfinch, and I concur entirely with this assessment.

You may all refer to me as Her Royal Highness Frances Prunella Snickerdoodle.

ditto this

I’m praying it’s Claire.

At Casa Finch, raisins are referred to as “dead grapes” and are never, ever served.

The soles of my feet were RAW.

Now I am even more appalled.

I just keep staring at that opening pic and thinking “What a waste of otherwise perfectly good sprinkles.”

But these take the footsweat factor to 11.

Her feet in that picture look red and uncomfortable. I am not seized with the urge to rush out and get myself a pair of Yeezy Heels.

I have never had worse blisters than the ones jellies gave me. They were the instrument of the devil.

ol’ Lego-Hair

I am a side-sleeper and thus my eyelashes are always mashed together in the centre of my eyelid. Mascara cures this by combing them out neatly and working as a fixative to keep them in place. I am not giving up my Clump Crusher.

Cromulent it is. I concur.

Someone gave me a pair of tickets to a hockey game at my 30th birthday party. I found them the next day in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.

Er, sacrilicious? A portmanteau word comprised of “delicious” and “sacrilegious”?

I will totally join your dog’s fan club.

Strathroy.

I prefer to believe those of us who know a drink can be both bitter and refreshing have more highly developed palates than the philistines still downing Cosmopolitans and rose vodka.