“After I found out who she was,” he said, “and the way you’d kept it from me, I became more enthusiastic than she was about redoing the foyer. I said that if she really wanted to make you happy, she would paint the woodwork babyshit brown.” He knew that I had had at least two unhappy experiences with the color practically everybody calls “babyshit brown.” Even in San Ignacio when I was a boy, people called it “babyshit brown.”
