Lost in Translation

So I'm setting the dinner table last week and I decide to solicit the help of my Munch. I hand her two place mats for the table. Munch gets on her tippy toes kinda wobbling back and forth and with one swift motion flings the mats onto the table. The mats land somewhere in the middle of the table nowhere near where hubs and I usually sit to eat. Next I hand her the spoons and asks her what they are. She proudly replies, "boons." Good enough for me. I don't hand her the knives but asks her what they are. Again, Munch beams that they are "knite." I am so proud of her that I enthusiastically proceed to lavish her with sugary praises. Riding on the crest of parental pride, I whip out the forks and asks her the same question. Gi's pronunciation is right on...uh, but not for the word, F - O - R - K. With a toothy smile, Gi looks up at me and confidently tells me that they are F ** C - K. You know which four letter word I'm referring to. Without hesitation, I correct her and repeat "fork." She complies and repeats "f **ck." I think I am clever so I change my strategy. I tell her to say "ork." By this time, she has lost almost all interest in helping me and says "uck" probably in the hopes of getting me off her back for a silly word that she is sure she has mastered many moons ago. Since that night, hubs and I have exploited many opportunities in which we get Gi to name all the utensils. We're not proud of this but we do get a mighty good chuckle.