Moi? Je m'appelle Thibault!

TIBU: noms de plumes, noms de guerre and noms de co-workers.

I’m having a hard time getting used to French names.  I can never picture how they're spelled when I hear them and usually can't tell the first thing about the person who carries the name, like whether he's a he or she's a she.

The coolest of all names I’ve heard here in my office is something that I’ve been spelling in my mind's eye as TIBU.  Very strong, probably African tribal name, I thought.

The coolest of all names I’ve heard here in my office is something that I’ve been spelling in my mind's eye as TIBU.  Very strong, probably African tribal name, I thought.

Then there's somebody who my male officemate calls at least once a week to ask out for lunch—Eve.  I therefore picture my officemate out to lunch with Eve, you know, Eve from the garden, out in a park near our office.  Apples and everything.  After a month of this, I just figured out that all this time he's been out to lunch with a dude named Yves.

Then we've got all of the hyphenated names, including the double-gender variety.  Of the couple dozen male co-workers I have here, thirteen guys are named Jean, most with something else appended thereto.  And then there's Jean-Marie, who's a boy, but judging by the second half of his name, his parents may not have been so sure.

And then we've got all of those people who, but for a letter or two, would in fact be the opposite gender.  We have a Pascal and two Pascales, an Emmanuel and an Emmanuelle and two Michels and a Michèle.

We have a Pascal and two Pascales, an Emmanuel and an Emmanuelle and two Michels and a Michèle.

The only easy names are the foreigners: George, the Australian; Mohamed, the Algerian; Eduardo, the Brazilian; Christian, the German; and María, the Spaniard. Not one of these could be mistaken as something African. And none would have to flip-flop gender due to a typo.