Dear...oh, let's just affectionately call you "Mr. Too Stupid to Live," only without the affection:
If you begin a conversation by acknowledging that I am the "resident expert" on a particular subject, then why, OH WHY, do you then refuse to accept my answers? This wasn't a tricky one. This is information that anyone who has done what I do for as long as I have done it has at her fingertips. I could share this information in my sleep. Truly. If you stood over my bed and asked "what kind of blank does a blank use?" I would answer "a blank" without even breaking my snugglehold with Pudge. (And then I would wake up and say "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY BEDROOM?")
It would have been the perfect opportunity to shove my newly-minted "Nensa" card in his face, but, alas, the conversation took place over the phone. I think if I began saying "Do you know what this is that I'm holding? Do you see how I'm waving it around in the general area where your face would be if you were here?" it might not have quite the desired effect. Sigh.