Who wants to hear a Cajun story? Ooh, ooh, I do! (Cajuns—they're so funny.)
It was many decades ago.** My uncle was working for the census, conducting door-to-door polling in rural Louisiana. He knocked on the door of a house. An old Cajun lady answered. He began his series of questions.
"Can you tell my your name?"
"I got B.O."
"Well, um… I'm sorry to hear that. But I really just need to know your name."
"I got B.O."
"Yes, I see… Well, that's not on my questionnaire, so if you could just tell me your name."
"That is my name—Agathe Billiot."***
The light bulb flickered on, and all became clear. Cross-linguistic homonym-ilarious—whooh!
* No, not me personally, though I have been known to get a little musty from time to time.
** This was many years before my existence, and all particulars beyond the core story are embellishments of my own imagination. But then all Cajun stories should have a liberal dose of imaginative embellishment. (Is like de cayenne spicing up da crawfish of de narrative.)
*** For the non-Franco-phonic amongst you, allow me to explain: "Agathe" (the French analog of "Agatha") is pronounced something like "Ah-got", and "Billiot" is rendered something like "Bee-yo", so when you say it all together it sounds a whole like "I got B.O.", particularly when filtered through a thick Cajun accent. (Ain't no funny like a funny that requires lengthy expository footnotes.)