I don't reckon the sun's ever come up quite the same since the day it happened. I've been watching it for years now and to me it still don't look right somehow. Maybe it's just me thinking it, sending myself doolally after what I've done. But I swear every morning it creeps up and it's looking at me, all knowing like. And when you reckon the sun's acting like that over you there isn't a right lot you can do about it, beyond burying yourself away like a mole in the soil. That's what I've been doing more or less in the score or so years that have gone by since. But however tight I shut them curtains to stop that damn sun lighting me up, it still don't stop the inside of my head from pounding out the truth. No way it's ever going to stop harassing me neither, not unless the deaf and dumb lass was to happen right back on my doorstep and give me the chance to tell her that it wasn't never meant to work out this way. The deaf and dumb lass went by the name of Mitzi Barker. Her being deaf and dumb, she was the kind of lass you went up the lane with if you didn't want no-one shouting their gob off about it after. Funny but it's the small things I recall best about her, like the way her hair reeked of bonfires and how that little old checkered dress of hers rode right up her thigh with no help from me. After we'd finished our business we'd head over the trout farm and I'd hunker down and poach us up a couple of rainbows for our tea. That Mitzi Barker, she was thin as an ear of barley and I always figured a good nosh-up was the least I could do for her troubles. Question: The narrator and Mitzi would eat trout: Options: - Never. - after they had relations. - not enough information - before they would have relations. === The correct answer is
after they had relations.

(Question)
Once, while grating potatoes to make potato pancakes, I had a Proustian moment. I can't lay claim to much in the way of literary knowledge, but I do know that Proust's 'Remembrance of Things Past' was prompted by his biting into a pastry and feeling a sense of overwhelming pleasure with no recognizable cause. In my case, I was instantly transported back to the grandmother's kitchen as she and my mother grated potatoes in order to make 'poutine rapee', also known as 'poutines'. People will immediately flash to the Quebecker ethnic food known by the same name. However, in spite of all the Franco-culinary posturing, this is really only French Fries with gravy and, oh yeah, can I have some cheese curds on that? One etymological source indicates that 'poutine' really means 'mess'. If you come from my part of the country, the Quebecker poutine is just another entry in the long list of dishes that will cause you to keel over from a myocardial infarction while shoveling a foot of snow out of the driveway shortly after you've retired; sometimes before. Nope, poutines as I know them are a different creature entirely. They seem to be more of an Acadian thing and none of my friends had even heard of them, much less eaten a single one. Because of the work involved, my mother only made poutines for special times: Christmas, say or Easter. My mother would borrow this grater that was about two feet long and she and my grandmother would set to work. Generally, they started off with an enormous paper sack of potatoes, about 25 pounds or so (We used to buy potatoes by the cartload and store them in a wooden bin in the basement. Because we were cheap labour, the kids would be sent down to retrieve a few for the family meal. It was creepy to descend into the dank cellar, feel our way through the dim obstacle course formed by my grandfather's thousands of tools and bits of wood and locate the bin. After a time in storage, the eyes on potatoes began to sprout pale tendrils and it didn't take much imagination to visualize all kinds... Question: poutines are considered? Options: - fancy food - a religious food - peasant food - not enough information === The correct answer is
(Answer)
not enough information

Ques: I was a student nurse at the time. I was assisting in the delivery of an infant. My specific task was to work with the rather over-excited father-to-be. He was an absolute delight to work withvery solicitous of his wife all throughout, very cooperative with the staff, and very appreciative of the help we were giving the mother-to-be. The background was that after 7 years of marriage, and 2 tragic miscarriages, THIS pregnancy had come to full term, and the childdeliberately they did NOT want to know the genderwas healthy, and both "mom" and "dad" were excited about the upcoming birth. The child finally emerged, the MD held up the child, and "dad" blurted out "It's a girl!! You wanted a girl!!! Oh my God, she's beautiful!!" Then he buried his face on his wife's shoulder and was sobbing for pure joy. The MD quickly put him to workhe was to cut the umbilical cord. "I'm not going to hurt her, am I??" MD assured him no, he wouldn't. He made the cut, and came immediately over to the wife"Honeyare you all right?? I didn't hurt you??"" While the his daughter was being bathed and checked out by the APGAR nurse, he excited called out the various observationsshe as healthy..she was pinking upshe was so beautiful "I can't believe it." When the nurse returned the little girl to "mom", the three of them cuddled together, tears just pouring from his eyesand we in the birthing suite were all getting teary-eyed ourselves. That was 30 years ago, and I still get tears just thinking about what I consider the most beautiful moment of my life, one that I was lucky to share with these two wonderful people. Question: The father cut the umbilical cord: Options: - not enough information - While the APGAR nurse was assessing the baby. - Before finding out the baby was a girl. - Immediately before asking his wife if she was alright. === The correct answer is
Ans:
Immediately before asking his wife if she was alright.