Me: Abuela, I met a guy from Nicaragua.
Abuela: Oh si? What was he like? I don’t know any Nicaraguans. Did he look native? Asian?
Me: No, he looked like us! So white you wouldn’t know until he started talking in Spanish.
Abuela: I’m not white. I’m pan tostado [toast]. You’re white because you’re only half, but I’m not white.
Me: What are you talking about? You’re whiter than a ghost!
Abuela: No, I’m toast.
Me: Speaking of pan tostado… I met a Cuban guy, too.
Abuela: Oh si? White like you?
Me: No, he was the color of pan tostado just like Papi was! Plus, he’s from your hometown.
Abuela: I’m just as toasty as Papi was. Look at this color! It’s the color of toast. Maybe if you marry the Cuban, your children will have this nice color. My first three children got that pan tostado coloring. But Aunta (and your mother) was super white. Porcelain almost. My mother was pan tostado like me.
Me: I’ll let him know that we’re getting married and having pan tostado children.