When my brain has holes in it!

It seems I've started off a few posts in the past few weeks with an apology - now I've been told I shouldn't apologize so much - but that's just a part of who I am. So tonight I'll apologize because this is going to be a rant. Now perhaps it's just because for whatever reason I was a bit discombobulated today (ya, I know, squiggly red line under that one for sure!). If I'd encountered this yesterday, or had planned this meal for tomorrow, there'd be decent odds you'd never have an opportunity to get this insight: but what the hell is it with the folks who package food products that they can't do their job well enough such that there isn't a 50% failure rate!

Seriously, for the love of God, if I open another box of Taco shells and have to deal with shattered remnants that look like the pieces of a crash test dummy after a Lada test I'm going to do damage to something!

Now, perhaps if I had a unit or two at home high on refined sugar, or with a personal penchant to poop only in a preferred place - outside - I'd get less upset over a few broken taco shells. . . but the reality is, I don't! And admittedly, there are many times I regret that because I know it would help; but for the sake of all you people out there who merely roll your eyes and put the broken halves of a taco shell on your spouses' plate because you don't think, on top of trying to get some squirly urchin out of the bathtub, the colour of which is somewhere between Jay Dee and Guinness, you should also have to fight with your dinner, let it be known I am prepared to take a stand on your behalf. And maybe the President of Old El Paso can be enticed to read my blog and will realize that he-slash-she has a quality control problem. . . 'cause frankly, it pisses me off!