Yet again.  This time I’m in a local Barnes and Noble, perusing the martial arts books (I was looking for a book on Iscrima, but no luck.)  Without even glancing at the shelves a nice older British gentleman approaches me and asks if I know where the books on Tennis might be.  I mean, I knew where they were, sure.  But what is it about me that makes people ask me this stuff?  I look like a soccer-mom most days, perhaps thats it, they think that someone as frumpy as I must be a. harmless and b. hold the secrets of the universe at her fingertips?