I’m happy to discuss the matter tiga, as I think you could be onto something. The US has a lot to answer for and we should be wary and even suspicious of them.
To stop them taking over everything, including our eating habits, we have to fly in the face of what they expect us to do, which is to sue someone for something and regardless of how
the matter seems to the “normal” human being living far away enough from the US to think it’s just dumb that someone gets $14.5 mill because they were sold the wrong size t-shirt from the lady over the counter, which caused much grief and embarrassment to the purchaser that can never be lived down. (Ok, so I’m exaggerating a bit).
Nevertheless, if people are prepared to put themselves in a situation, as tiga’s described above, then they have to accept whatever goes with that. It’s not somebody else’s fault if people decide they want Tacos for dinner and, as a consequence, they incur stained clothing, carpets and any associated pangs of depression because the blessed things won’t come out of the oven in one piece.
Let’s face it, that’s what Tacos do, isn’t it? And where would the fun be if they suddenly stayed in one piece from the time you bought them to the time you took the last bite of one? No fun at all.
Seems that no one wants to take responsibility for anything these days, which is America’s fault, because they just go around suing the pants off anyone and everyone, willy nilly, because they can. And they’re doing it again. They expect that someone’s going to sue soon enough because Tacos are a nightmare to eat. Don’t ask me why, but they’ll be happy if and when someone does.
TheBull has the right idea and it would annoy the tripe out of the Americans that he chooses to steer right away from the Tacos, thereby avoiding all the angst of taco eating and the possibility of having to sue someone.
From now on, when I have Tacos, I’m going to rejoice in the fact that they crumble and make a mess everywhere, just to peeve the Americans.
I’ll just make a note to only ever eat tacos out, or someone else’s place when I’m wearing an old tracky.
