input: OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- because mom was pregnant after the wedding
- because the wedding was fast
- because this indicates a certain amount of premarital hanky-panky. Now, answer this question: When she's in the mood to push my buttons, my significant other, the delightful and charming Ms. D, frequently alludes to the questionable timeline concerning my birth date. She derives much mirth from the fact that I was born something less than nine or ten months after my parents wed and hints that this indicates a certain amount of premarital hanky-panky. Standing on my dignity ('cause it's higher than the coffee table), my reply is that I have it on good authority that I owe my early entry into the world to Tabusintac Hill. Said hill was once considered to be an abomination of the first water. The Tabusintac, like all hills, had an up and a down. In this case, the up and down were distinguished from each other by a sharp curve at the bottom. The main North/South New Brunswick highway slavishly followed the hill's contours. If you were heading north, the road led you into a ravine and you were faced with a steep uphill incline that, in winter presented a challenge to at least half the vehicles trying to climb it. In true snow country fashion, steep, icy hills were conquered by getting a running start, building up a lot of speed and praying that Mr. Newton's rules concerning inertia would work in your favour. Headed south, the problem became keeping your car under control so that you didn't go shooting into the trees when the road curved to the left. My parents were taking a trip to the Miramachi in December of '56 and were driving a Pontiac borrowed from one of my father's friends. My mother was pregnant with a bundle of bad attitude and misery that would turn out to be me. I assume that my father was driving with that mix of panache and insouciance that my mother tended to describe as reckless behaviour. In any case, as he rounded the corner at the top of the hill, the road was apparently free of snow and ice and there was no reason to slowdown. Until the moose stepped out onto the road just ahead of them. Question: why was i born nine months after my parents wedding? === The answer to the above question is
A:
output: because this indicates a certain amount of premarital hanky-panky.

The sudden burst of spring produce in the market after a long, monotonous winter of cavolo nero and bright oranges is one of the things that constantly reminds me why I love living and eating in Italy. A wander through the market like any other becomes, in spring time, a new experience. I feel like a fresh arrival, like it's my first time walking through my local market. There are long, twisty fava bean pods, waiting to be podded and munched on with bitey pecorino cheese to tame the bitterness of the raw beans. Thin, long-stemmed asparagus. A lovely array of greens, including radishes with leaves so happy that they become the main ingredient, fluffy-fronded fresh herbs and fresh garlic. Artichokes of many different kinds, but especially the pointed purple ones that are either local, from Tuscany's Maremma, or sometimes from Puglia or Sicily. Rarely the rounded globe artichokes you find spilling out of crates in Rome, or the tiny, delicate Venetian ones, the so-called castraure (though they often aren't the real deal, how you can tell is by the price) that you can find in the shadow of the Rialto. And then there are thick bunches of agretti (salsola soda), looking more like mermaid's hair than a monk's beard, their English namesake. A few years ago, this wasn't such a common sight at the market in Florence. It still isn't, in that you won't get them by the crateful like you do fava beans and artichokes, though they're not particularly difficult to find now. They're just one of those special things that don't last long. Blink and you'll miss them, or come late to the market and they could easily be sold out. It's worth getting up and out of the house a little earlier for these (a note to myself, of course). If you've never tasted agretti before, it's worth seeking out if you're in the right place at the right time and find a bunch or see it on a menu. Frances Mayes likens it to spinach, but notes that it is so much more, "While agretti has the mineral sharpness of spinach, it tastes livelier, full of the energy... Question: What is the author's profession? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- Journalist.
- Chef.
- not enough information
- Food writer.

Answer: not enough information

Greg stopped by the courthouse concession stand for a cup of coffee, even though he had already downed four cups at Jane's Diner across the street. The old man behind the counter reached for Greg's dollar with a noticeably shaky hand that looked as though it had held more cigarettes and booze than money in its lifetime. He took his coffee and walked up the stairs to the second floor. There were about fifty people standing in the hallway outside the courtroom making small talk. He recognized a few of them, but was in no mood to start a conversation. Only four more jurors and two alternates were needed. With a little luck, he would soon be sent on his way. The coffee tasted bitter, but he continued to sip on it anyway, just to occupy himself. After a few minutes, a woman walked out of the courtroom and spoke to the crowd in monotone. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We are ready to get started. We did not get enough jurors yesterday for the criminal trial, so we are going to use part of today's panel for that purpose. Those who are not selected for the criminal trial today must appear tomorrow at 8:00 AM for the civil trial jury selection. "First, I will call the names of the jurors that have already been selected. When I call your name, please go into the courtroom and take your seat in the pews where you sat yesterday. Please sit in the order in which your names are called." "Alexander Littleton Gail Silestone " The crowd carefully analyzed each person as he walked through the group and into the courtroom. "Mary McJohnson William Biscayne Judy McPhearson John Nihmbor Nancy Novelle and Troy Blockerman." Greg nearly choked on his coffee. Troy Blockerman! That's Cynthia's husband. His blood pressure shot up like a bottle rocket, exploding into a headache. "And now I will call the names of a portion of today's panel. Those whose names are not called will need to stay here in the courthouse since we might still need you today. I will let you know when you can go home. Again, please sit in the order in... Question: Why did Greg's blood pressure shoot up? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- His name was read as a selected juror.
- He had five cups of coffee.
- not enough information
- He heard the woman read Troy Blockerman's name.

Answer:
He heard the woman read Troy Blockerman's name.