Have you ever sat around and thought about how you'd create your dream kitchen if you had the chance? Well, we are on the verge of a move (whenever the house sells, we'll move), and I keep thinking that I need to sit down and write a list of our "would likes" and our "must haves." That way, when we are house hunting, we'll already know what we're looking for. For a chance to win an Un Amore custom-designed KitchenAid Stand Mixer from PartSelect, I have been thinking about the top three "would likes" for our new kitchen and decided to check out what KitchenAid has to offer! I discovered three appliances that would change our reality kitchen into a dream kitchen. We have two young boys that will change into tweens and teens before we know it. Big Brother has always been a good eater, open to trying just about anything we put in front of him. However, discovering that he actually does have some control over what he does, he's lately turned up his nose on occasion. Little Brother is exactly like me when I was young. He turns his nose up at just about anything. Although he did just spend a week with his grandparents and decided he would eat and make up for lost mealsand make me out to be a liar! Anyway, I keep reminding myself as I find myself challenged at mealtimes, that soon enough, they'll be eating us out of house and home. So, one of the larger dream kitchen appliances I'd like in our home would be a double oven! I just think it'd come in really handy when trying to keep up with their metabolism down the road! When you're preparing a lot of food, you're typically buying a lot of products, and the garbage and recycling bins fill up faster than ever as well. The second dream kitchen appliance I wouldn't mind having would be the KitchenAid Trash Compactor, reducing our use of garbage bags and trips to the outside dumpster. Plus, I think I'd like not having to smell the garbage all the time! The narrator wants a trash compactor: A. before she gets a new kitchen B. during post-time C. after she gets a new kitchen D. not enough information
C

Everybody knew Shandor Marley's mother liked to spend more time flirting with serial killers than she did taking care of things at home. So when her son went round with an air rifle popping his neighbours like they were allotment pigeons, they figured all the boy really needed was a bit of attention. Shandor finally flipped one day after finding out the inbred farm boys who made his life hell most days were in fact his half-brothers. He returned home to confront his mother only to find her pritt-sticking press cuttings of the Mad Killer into a brand new scrapbook and seemingly not in the least bit concerned by her son's unexpected discovery. Luckily Shandor's shooting spree didn't do too much damage beyond putting one of his so-called new father's eyes out, which could be considered doubly unfortunate given as the so-called new father in question owned the old byre Shandor and his mother called home. After Shandor had spent enough time shut away in borstal with the kind of kids who would've sent his mother all weak at the knees, he went straight home half-expecting the byre to be boarded up with a blu-tacked note saying she was lugging her stupid arse to Texas to spring her latest psycho boyfriend from his cell on death row. Shandor was thinking how much that excuse would sit well with her as he scuffed up the stone track to the byre with a black bin-bag of belongings and a sunburned arm across his forehead to shield himself from the glare. The place looked pretty much the same as he remembered it, only three years worse off. The strip of grass outside the back door was parched yellow and paint peeled around the blown-out windows. He had a hand on the door before he knew for sure it was still lived-in. He flapped thunderbugs off his forearm and creaked open the door. The kitchen stank of stale cigarettes and the dregs of spirit bottles. at the end of the story, shandor probably: A. cleaned up the house B. found his mother sleeping C. not enough information D. found his mother in the house
D

Q: I was driving on Highway 35 on my way home from work. Up in front of me was a giant billboard advertising yet another jeweler, in ten-foot letters and bright silver watches like massive alien machines. The traffic slowed and stopped on the ramp as it bottlenecked further into the city, and my head turned to examine the sign and the blocked view of the cityscape and land beyond. Past it was another billboard, with the name of a casino as its only text, filled with collaged images of money, plush rooms, and dancers. A quarter mile further brought me to an advertisement for business management solutions. Another few hundred yards and I was urged to try the new sandwich at the new sandwich place. The sun set and the signs stayed bright as automatic light switched on. The city grew dark and the hills beyond feebled out, existing only in our minds and finally not even there. All that remained were the well-lit and shiny reminders that lawyers were standing by to take my case to court, and that somebody's air conditioners would outlast somebody else's. I had an idea. I made the call the next day. It would put me back a good half grand, but it would be worth it. There would be no design meeting; I sent them the image and it was printed. A few weeks later it went up. Now on my commute, when I paused in the crush of metal bodies, I looked up and saw mountains by Maxfield Parrish, reaching up to the clouds in impossible cragginess, rivulets and gushing streams painted down their sides, with the sun striking vibrant oranges and reds into the shadows of the rocks. There were trees in copper-patina green and still pools quieter than the middle of winter but warm as the first day of summer. No doubt people thought it was the first part of a two-stage advertising gimmick, or a filler to be used when no one was renting space on the sign. But I was happy. Who drives on Highway 35? A. not enough information B. A lawyer. C. The narrator. D. A jeweler.
A: C

(Q).
Relatives of a dying lady I was caring for kicking and screaming not to give their Mum pain relief because they were so terrified / knew it would probably be the thing to end her life. She had a horrible aggressive cancer that ravaged her whole body and needed very regular doses of strong pain relief which - as she had a terminal illness and was receiving end of life care - did not have an upper limit so to speak. She had pain relief as and when needed to make her comfortable and that often results in people ultimately overdosing. Mum had Alzheimer's and was howling and writhing in agony so we were giving her pain relief but daughters knew it would probably result in her death - which they were right about possibly happening and in their grief and panic, started trying to prevent us from doing anything. Didn't want us getting near her at all and we had to go through an awful scenario of trying to explain what we had to do for Mum and why and when they still wouldn't have it or allow us near, we had to do what nobody wants and go against their wishes by administering the pain relief anyway. One daughter screamed the place down, threatened to have me arrested and struck off / said she would go to the papers and tell them about how we killed her Mum and in the end she had to be removed from the bedroom. Her Mum was given the pain relief, immediately relaxed and fell asleep then died peacefully in her sleep about 15 mins later. The saddest thing is her daughter wasn't able to be there and see her Mum dropping off so peacefully and her last memory will forever be of her screaming and thrashing about as she (daughter) was physically removed from the room. Tragic. What is the writers job? A. nurse B. not enough information C. doctor D. caregiver
(A).
B