I married young, at 19, bright-eyed and hopeful, and in a few months, we will celebrate our 29th anniversary. Like all marriages, we have had our share of happy and sad, growing together as the years passed us by. My husband is my best friend, a wonderful father, a hard worker, a great provider, treats me like a queen, and loves me unconditionally. He is my soul mate in many ways. My husband is also gay. I had no idea when I married him. I was a virgin on our wedding night and had never had any type of physical relationship prior to my husband. Having nothing to compare it to, I thought our sexual intimacy was normal. It was fun, sexy, enjoyable. My husband was a giving partner, and I almost always experienced orgasm. But as the years went by, the frequency of our sexual activity became less. It was not unusual to go months without sex not for lack of trying on my part. We rarely fought, but we would fight about the growing lack of intimacy. I often wondered what it was about me that made my husband not want to have sex with me. And then one day, shortly after our 25th anniversary, I found gay porn on his computer. At first he denied everything, but finally, through tears, he confessed that he'd had these same-sex attractions as long as he could remember. In his teens, a church counsellor had told him marriage would "cure" him. Feeling as though I had just been punched in the gut, I was heartbroken. I felt betrayed, confused, angry, sad, and yet, miraculously relieved. There was nothing wrong with me I was just not his type. The emotions flew through me leaving my head and heart confused. What now? I loved this man with every fibre of my being. We had a good life together, sex aside, and had built a family. We were happy. I did not want a divorce and neither did he. Question: What convinced the author's husband marry the author? Options: - not enough information - he wanted his wife and a good life - he wanted to build a family - he believed he could change his orientation === The correct answer is
he believed he could change his orientation

(Question)
The doctors told me I would be placed on a seventy-two hour hold for observation. Knowing this was the only way out, I obeyed and diligently signed all the papers. I hated my parents but still felt the inescapable drive to prove to them that I was worth something. I had to show them I wasn't crazy. As the hours passed, I was shown to a blank room with plastic sheets and plastic pillows, which caused me to wonder what kind of distant confused souls had been imprisoned in this sterile place. There were bars on the windows and the only door out of the unit was locked 24/7. I knew my only refuge for the time being would be through the hour a day art therapy class and the smoke breaks I could take at will. They had given me a legal pad after my parents had told them of my affinity for writing. With it I set to work on the flow of words and the river of thoughts, both dark and hopeful that careened through my tired mind. Instead of sleep, I would write. I expressed my vicious frustration for the place and thought constantly of the passing hours, counting them down as they went. Because of this I was thankful for the eight to ten I would use up easily in my escapes to the world behind my eyelids. There I was free and could experience a life unhindered by limitations of ethics or gravity. When I'd awake I'd write what I could remember of my escapes on the obtrusive legal pad. I had the suspicion that the attendants would come in and read my thoughts as I was eating meals or watching TV and I wondered if this was hindering my ability to get out. I wondered what kind of opinions and judgments they were forming about me. I had bared my soul on those pages explaining desperately how the thoughts would not leave even in this place, where it mattered most that they were gone. The fuckers would never leave. Maybe I was crazy. Question: When did the speaker sign the papers? Options: - not enough information - before the observation - after the observation - during the observation === The correct answer is
(Answer)
before the observation

Old Zeke handed Justin his day's worth of mail and looked longingly at the cool shade under the porch, half hoping, half anticipating an invitation to enjoy a cool drink and a few minutes out of the sun. His state-of-the-art mail delivery vehicle, an old green Ford with busted air-conditioning, sometimes elicited sympathy from those along his route, but the ones with beer were the best. However, Justin just looked through his mail and then began watching the sky. "You ever think about gravity?" Justin asked suddenly. "No," admitted Old Zeke, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Justin sighed a little. "You ever fall off your ladder?" "Well," considered Zeke. Damned if this wasn't a round-about way to offer a fella a drink, but maybe after all this Justin would offer him a beer instead of that watery lemonade he made. "Yeah." "How long did it take you to fall?" Well hell, muttered Old Zeke under his breath. Maybe all those stakes he was driving in had given Justin a touch of the sun. The thought made him consider hauling Justin back to town, although the truck might finish the job the sun had started. "A second or two," Zeke replied. But before he could load Justin into the truck, he figured he would have to collect a few things from the house, and maybe from the fridge he'd collect a few drinks... "That thing up there hasn't fallen a foot in ten minutes or so." Maybe Justin had a small bottle of something tucked away under the... "What thing?" Justin pointed. Zeke shielding his eyes with his hands and looked up. "Oh, that weather balloon?" Justin's expectant face seemed to droop. "That what it is?" "Yep. Looks like it's almost out of helium, the way it's floating so low. Launched 'em myself thirty years ago in the Army." Question: How long has Zeke been a mail man? Options: - Three years - few months - not enough information - 30 years === The correct answer is
not enough information