Actually, I was pretty proud of myself. Raoul, Linda and I were on a tour of Colchester Castle, and the guide had interrupted her narration with a question. Now, I'm no expert historian, but with a little concentrated effort I came up with what I thought was an educated guess.

"The Romans were fearless fighters," the guide declared, "using any means necessary to intimidate their enemy. When they travelled up the river from Rome, then, they brought with them what big gray animal?

"AN ELEPHANT!" I all but screamed. I don't get that many opportunities to impress.

"That's right!" the guide announced. I beamed while the only stranger on the tour, a sweet-looking old woman, muttered something like, "That's interesting." Linda, meanwhile, rolled her eyes.

"That was certainly impressive," she whispered to me. "I mean, there were so many possibilities. Like . . . " She pretended to think for a moment. "No, I guess that was it."

Instantly I went beet red. Linda was right: instead of looking smart, I looked like an idiot. This tour was designed for five-year-olds, and not especially bright ones at that. Even though there were no kids in our group, the guide still lobbed softball questions designed to keep them involved, with every one loaded with hints so that even the slowest child would get them right.

That's it, I thought. Nobody patronizes me. I swallowed my humiliation and bided my time until the next question came up. "In 54 AD, the warrior Bodecia attacked the Roman settlement," the guide said. "Two thousand years before feminism, what was different about Bodecia?"

"He was a professional dancer," I solemnly intoned, but the guide said no.

"He was in a wheelchair," Linda offered. The guide shook her head.

Raoul stared at both of us like we were idiots. "Bodecia was a woman," he declared.

"That's right," the guide said. We waited until Raoul shot us a smug look and together we rolled our eyes.

By the time the next question came, all three of us were on board. "Bodecia's army was vastly outnumbered by the Romans," the guard announced, "but they were far more adept at warfare. Long before it became common, they donned what protective apparel?"

"Aprons," I confidently stated.

"Football helmets?" Linda offered tentatively.

"Condoms," Raoul said with Walter Cronkite's gravitas. Linda and I choked down laughs as the guide shook her head.

"Suits of armor," the guide said frostily, and the three of us mimed sudden illumination. In unison we said, "Oh."

The guide prattled on a bit before hitting her next question. "Though Bodecia's attack was largely rebuffed," she said, "it nearly destroyed the Roman government. Food was scarce, so the inhabitants survived on what native game?"

Linda's hand flew up in the air. "Grand Theft Auto," she announced.

Raoul and I nearly choked. "Um, no," the guide replied. "By 'game,' I mean -- "

"Chutes and Ladders," Raoul yelled. The guide took a deep breath.

"Idiot, she said NATIVE GAME," I snapped, as the guide shot me a look of gratitude. "It's Quidditch, right?"

All of time stood still as the guide froze us in a furious glare. She was onto us, that much was certain. Without a word of explanation she leapt ahead ten centuries, and when she posed her next second-grade question we didn't exactly jump. "In 1076, construction of the current castle was ordered by what Norman nicknamed 'The Conqueror'?" she asked.

Three pairs of eyes lit up, but without pausing a nanosecond the guide answered herself. "ROCKWELL! That's it: Norman Rockwell, the acclaimed painter of all those Saturday Evening Post covers, also built this castle. Isn't that incredible?"

The sweet old woman eyed the crumbling structure. "He should have stuck to painting," she announced.