Problem:OPTIONS:
- The fragments were put into little tin keepsake boxes after.
- The fragments were swept up with all of the other trash after the reception.
- The fragments were carefully wrapped and thrown into the trash after the reception.
- not enough information

My partner's parents decided to help with all the planning and set up for his sister's wedding. I am sure part of the reason was because they had offered to foot part of the expenses. There came a point in the planning, when his mom seemed to sort of run-amok with her ideas. His sister ended up accepting some plans for her wedding that I don't think she was really that fond of, but she went along with them anyways. One of the things that stands out the most to me, was this idea that they would make a large wooden box with a hole in it, and people would smash their dinner plates into the box. Then the fragments of the broken plates would be put into metal keepsake tins for the guests to take home. (The tins were cute, the trash inside seemed very weird to me.) So imagine it's the evening of your wedding reception, and people are in a corner of the room smashing their plates into a box. And then part of your wedding party is supposed to go in the back and fix up the tins of broken ceramic ware. It was like an exercise in how to needlessly generate extra stress hormones in a large room full of people. My partner's sister looked like she cringed every time someone threw a plate in the box. It is weird (and wasteful) to propose to break brand new plates for a tradition that isn't even part of your ancestry. It's weird to railroad the people getting married into accepting to do things they don't really want. Soon after that, my partner's mother offered that she would be happy to help us plan and throw our wedding too, just like they did for his sister. I think the experience made us both content to elope. Question: What happened with the the plate fragments? === The answer to the above question is
****
A: The fragments were put into little tin keepsake boxes after.

It was their first official date. Greg Tenorly and Cynthia Blockerman had been through quite an ordeal together--being hunted by police for the murder of her abusive husband while they ran from the real killer. But all that was behind them now. All charges against them had been dropped, and Cynthia's husband had been buried. And the rumors would have died down eventually if they had gone their separate ways. They could feel the stares as they walked to their table. Greg had requested the most private booth, way in the back. Coreyville Pasta House was the oldest Italian restaurant in town. And still the best. Mama Castilla had run the place for over thirty years. She had taken over for her grandfather in 1973. A sign on the wall said so. Cynthia ordered the Fettuccini Alfredo. Greg went with his favorite, the Chicken Parmesan. Both ordered iced tea and salad. The bread and olive oil with roasted garlic and pepper came with every meal. Greg could not resist great bread. And this was the best. He tore off a chunk as soon as the waitress delivered it. Cynthia would wait for the salad. "So we're finally on a real date," said Greg. "Yeah. So how does it feel?" "Kinda weird and scary and...wonderful." Cynthia smiled and Greg momentarily forgot all about the amazing aroma in the restaurant. All he wanted to do was kiss her. But that would have to wait. So, his hunger came rushing back. Cynthia's mood turned serious. "I don't want to spoil our date, but I've got to tell you something." Greg wondered if he had done something wrong. He could fix it--whatever it was. "I've asked Mom to move in with me." "Why? I thought she was happy living in Marshall." "She was." "What do you mean? What happened?" "The other night a friend of hers was murdered. And the woman lived on her street. They killed her nurse too." Question: Mama Castilla ran The Coreyville Pasta House for over 30 years. How did she get that job? === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- It was a family business
- A good Italian restaurant requires authenticity
- She served bread with olive oil and roasted garlic with every meal
- not enough information
It was a family business

Problem: OPTIONS:
- From the start of dinner until the morning after the dinner.
- From the start of dinner until the next time a dinner was held.
- The length of the dinner party.
- not enough information
Q: It's axiomatic that all cultures reserve a special place for food in their daily and social lives. For something as simple as a cuppa joe, we schedule and juggle our time to meet at predetermined locations to share conversation and libation. Meals require even more effort and the social ramifications increase. One is expected to show up on time, sometimes dress to certain standards and bring one or many bottles of wine as a thoughtful gift to the hosts. And of course, the food is just an excuse to get together with friends to enjoy a meal, share stories, to discuss or seduce, to seal an agreement or act as a prelude to a severance of relations (frequently unintentionally). I was first introduced to dining for pleasure as opposed to sustenance while at the University of New Brunswick. I lived in Bridges House, one of the men's residences. The young, eager, bright-eyed students in each residence were kept more or less in check by a Don. Each residence had its share of maniacs and troublemakers who were at university to get some form of education, alcohol poisoning or a social disease; sometimes all three. The Don's job was to act as a mentor and prison warden. Imagine a building housing up to 100 young adult men. It doesn't take much to start a riot. In our case, the Don was Locutus. When we met him, he must have been in his forties but looked to us adolescents to be older than Father Time. He was immediately dubbed 'Grandpa Munster'. With the tender sensitivity of males of our age, we didn't bother to hide this from him and he took it in good humour. In point of fact, Locutus was a great Don; firm when he needed to be and understanding and helpful as appropriate. You crossed this guy at your peril, but he was generally pretty tolerant. Question: How long did the author probably believe it would take to unintentionally sever a relationship? === The answer to the above question is
Answer:
The length of the dinner party.