Three of my nieces were visiting recently. They always make a beeline for the music room. They take great pleasure in detuning every stringed instrument within reach of their sticky little fingers.
I eventually lured them out of there with the false promise of sweets and herded them into the living room where they began entertaining themselves by making up superhero names.
The oldest one yelled out, “¡Yo soy Prepucio Biónico!” (“I am Bionic Foreskin!”)
When I finally stopped laughing, I asked her where she learned that word (foreskin).
Her answer: “Catechism classes.”