Once, in grade four or five, we were asked to write a letter to a penpal. My name’s not Lewis, I wrote. It’s spelled L-o-u-i-s, but pronounced Loo-wee.
The teacher (you know who you are) decided to read my letter out to the class.
‘Loo-wee!’ cried the other kids. ‘Loo-wee!’
Har-di-har-har. It. Was. Hilarious.
These days, I honestly don’t mind at all when people call me Lewis. But to my friends and family, I’m Louis. That’s right. Loo-wee.