A Dominican sister lived in a convent named after a deceased Pope. One day while she was wearing contemporary clothes instead of her habit, she drove into a gas station to get the communal car filled up.
After the young attendant topped off the tank, he walked toward her car window to return her credit card. It was clear from his furrowed brow that he had something on his mind. The young man looked at her shyly and pointed to the convent's name, "John XXIII Convent" imprinted on the card.
"Pardon me," he asked hesitantly, "but how do you pronounce your husband's middle name?"