A homonym, but not really

When Lady May was baptized, we promised her a brand new set of scriptures with gleaming gilded pages, shiny ribbon bookmarks and index tabs making it oh so easy to locate Nehemiah, Nahum, Haggai, Obadiah and Habakkuk. Because let's be honest, you just never know when you're going to need to turn to Habakkuk with accuracy and precision. Remarkably, it only took us 1.5 years to make good on that $60 promise, and yesterday she picked out a brand new set of tiny scriptures of her very own.

As we made our purchase at the bookstore, the salesperson asked if she'd like her name engraved on the cover. Asking a 9 year old if she'd like her name embossed in fancy gold lettering on...well, anything, is pretty much like asking her if it would be OK to have Justin Bieber babysit. When it was finished, she gushed about how pretty it was and how she liked that it matched the Hyman's book she has. The Hyman's book? Huh? I was confused, and so this is how the rest of the conversation went:

Me: Do you have a book from Bishop Hyman?
Her: No.

Me: Did his wife loan you something in Primary?
Her: No mom. The Hyman's book?! The one that Grandma and Grandpa gave me.

Me: What book are you talking about?
Her: You know, the one from my baptism that has my name printed on it too?

And then it all became crystal clear what book she was referring to: