My dear mother and her pronunciation problem

I have this mortal flaw where I correct people in all situations if I know they're wrong or inaccurate. They could be my peers, my elders, my boss, or a stranger on the street. It doesn't matter who it is, but if you misquote the starting and ending dates of the Civil War or identify the wrong actor in a movie, I'll just sidle up to you and throw in, "No, actually that was Julia Roberts in 'Pretty Woman.' I hate it, and wish I knew how to stop, because I feel like it makes my come off as a know-it-all. Really, I have never claimed to know it all. I simply have an inordinate amount of useless knowledge. It makes me great at trivia, slightly socially inept.

Now that you have that bit of useless knowledge that you never needed to know about me, I'm going to throw something else at you: As a singer, I had to learn phonetics in college to be able to sing songs and arias in foreign languages for which I was not fluent. I had to learn to sing in Italian, French, German, Spanish, Latin, Russian, Czech and all the while try to sound like a native speaker in all of those languages. As a result, I know how to say a lot of words in other languages even when I don't know what they mean.

My longest standing correction feud stands between my mother and I. She has been mispronouncing words since the beginning of time. And so should she. She's not in a field where people look at you like you have three heads if you put the wrong emphasis on the wrong syllable or screw up a vowel sound for a foreign word like I am. Still, she mispronounces words and names all the time, and I correct her... and then slap myself for correcting my mother once we're off the phone. But her brain doesn't operate in phonetics and my brain doesn't operate in decorating, so I guess we're even.

So at any rate, she called me on Saturday morning while I was in the office tying up some loose ends before heading down to the beach for summer oh-eight wedding number four. She was so excited because she had just made a new (to her) discovery at Whole Foods. Here's how that conversation went.

Mother: Sweetie! Have you ever heard of sha-moo-shoo? I just bought some at Whole Foods and it's the most amazing stuff that I've ever tasted!
Me: No... what is it?
Mother: It's like tuna... but it's raw. Well, it's not like tuna. It is tuna, but it's just not cooked.
Me: [thinking to myself] Shamooshoo. Shamooshoo. What on Earth could she be talking about? Raw tuna is tartare. How have I never heard of... OH. Poor thing. [out loud] Mother. You mean sashimi.
Mother: How do you say that? Shashoomoo?
Me: Sashimi. It's like sushi.
Mother: Shashimu.
Me: Sa-shi-mi.
Mother: Sha-shi-mi.
Me: [sigh] Close enough. I'm glad you like it.

God bless her. LOVE her. Long story short, my mother has discovered raw tuna and likes it.