"Hey, BB, I can speak Italian," Pie told me as she walked into the kitchen on arriving home from school.
"Can you?" I asked. "What can you say?"
"I can say 'bakery' and 'creamed cheese.'"
"Which one do you want to hear first?"
"Hmm," I mused. "'Bakery.'"
"Pasticceria," she said, assuming the awful but precocious accent of all young children trying to speak a foreign tongue.
"And how do you say 'creamed cheese?'" I asked.
She threw her arms open and, in the same overdone dialect as before, exclaimed, "Philadelphia!"