"That's Glenn Miller," my father said. "But it can't be." He had the back of the hospital bed cranked upright, the lower lid of his left eye creeping up in a warning signal I'd learned to recognize as a child. My older sister Ann had settled deep in the recliner, and she glared at me too, blaming me for winding him up. The jam box sat on the rolling tray table and my father was working the remote as he talked, backing up my newly burned CD and letting it spin forward to play a few seconds of low fidelity trombone solo. "You know the tune, of course," he said. "'King Porter Stomp.'" Those childhood years of listening to him play Glenn Miller on the console phonograph were finally paying off. "He muffed the notes the same way on the Victor version." "So why can't it be Miller?" I asked. "He wouldn't have played with a rabble like that." The backup musicians teetered on the edge of chaos, playing with an abandon somewhere between Dixieland and bebop. "They sound drunk." My father had a major emotional investment in Miller. He and my mother had danced to the Miller band at Glen Island Casino on Long Island Sound in the summer of 1942, when they were both sixteen. That signature sound of clarinet and four saxes was forever tied up for him with first love and the early, idealistic months of the war. But there was a better reason why it couldn't have been Miller playing that solo. If the date on the original recording was correct, he was supposed to have died three days earlier. The date was in India ink on a piece of surgical tape, stuck to the top of a spool of recording wire. The handwritten numerals had the hooks and day-first order of Europe: 18/12/44. I'd won it on eBay the week before as part of a lot that included a wire recorder and a stack of 78s by French pop stars like Charles Trenent and Edith Piaf. Question: Who had a major emotional investment in Miller? === The answer to the above question is

OPTIONS:
- The narrator
- Ann
- The father.
- not enough information

Answer: The father.

Problem: OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- one hour
- a weekend
- all day
Q: I'm going to take something that happened to my daughter for this answer. Billie Jo (our daughter) was probably around ten years old when it happened. We had a young Black Labrador dog who had become quite smitten with chewing things up that she wasn't supposed to. The list grew longer as the months passed. Looker, our black lab, had chewed up and eaten a $10 bill, my VCR remote control (probably around 1987), and a sticker-filled blackberry vine my wife had planted. How she did that one without serious repercussions is beyond me. She also had a habit of grabbing the mail as it slid through the slot that was in our front door, taking it out back and 'sorting' it for us. So what happened really came as no big surprise. My daughter was a very diligent student, never wanting to let down her teachers by not turning her homework in as soon as she got to school (at least until she hit 14). One morning our daughter was trying to find the math homework that she knew she had completed the night before. My wife assisted in the search and soon found a partially chewed up piece of our daughter's homework page. Our daughter was devastated! How could she possibly walk in to school and publicly announce, "My dog ate my homework!" without becoming the laughing stock of the school? Like this: Mama Bear (my wife) storms into the classroom and vehemently upholds our daughter's "dog ate my homework" bit, showing the teacher the half eaten paper. Funny thing was, the teacher would have never doubted our little girl for one minute. Back then, Billie Jo was the sweetest, cutest, most polite and well mannered child a parent could possibly hope for. And her teachers loved her. So, if you have partial proof, it can be a valid excuse. Question: How long did it take to do the homework? === The answer to the above question is
Answer: one hour

input with options: How long ago was it? It was a long time is all I know. For my birthday, my parents took me and my brother out of school on the day before my birthday and we took a train. (Funny interjection, my mom was caught on the wrong side of the station so she ran across the rails and was pulled up by my dad a couple minutes before the train came.) It was a night train, so we had our own room where my brother and I claimed the top as our territory. (Look at my younger self's squinty eyes They are staring into your soul) Anyways, it was morning by the time we arrived at where I would spend my birthday. Vienna, Austria. I quickly got off the train in excitement taking in the view of the station like it was first time I had seen anything. We exited the station and took the trolley to get to our hotel. For breakfast, we had delicious, regional delicacies (among other things). They looked similar to crepes, but all I know is that it had a German name that I can't remember. After we got situated in our hotel, we immediately headed off for the Mozart Plaza/Park. My family and I also visited other monuments that day: By the end of the day, our legs were worn out. We had rode so many trolleys and walked so much that I'm pretty sure that any longer and we would've collapsed on the spot. The bed never felt so good. The following days we went to Austrian Castle, Ice Cave, and more buildings and such. The trip overall made this birthday the most memorable and the best thus far. Bonus: We missed our night train back because of daylight saving hours. The trip back was definitely hectic, but adventurous. Question: The writer and her family visited many attractions in Vienna. When it was all over, she was : === The answer to the above question is
OPTIONS:
- not enough information
- Grumpy because of her sore feet.
- Tired but happy.
- Peeved because they missed their train back home and had to wait for the next one.
output:
Tired but happy.