Pedro had just finished building our greenhouse, a modest structure that would serve dual purposes: nurturing tropical fruits like dragonfruit and extending the life of my beloved herbs—mint, basil, parsley—and my toms.
The greenhouse was one of the things I most dreamed about before we moved to Spain in 2019. Pedro, with his perpetually cheerful grin, took pride in every panel of glass and every carefully laid beam.
Then came the shattering crash.
I raced outside to find Pedro standing by the greenhouse, hoe in hand, and shards of glass scattered at his feet. One of the pristine panels had a gaping hole.
“Pedro, ¿qué ha pasado?” I asked, genuinely alarmed.
With a shrug and not a hint of guilt, he responded, “Se me ha caído.”
I blinked. “¿Cómo que ‘se te ha caído’?”
It didn’t make sense to me. It was like he was saying, “The hoe just fell over” instead of admitting outright that, “I dropped the hoe.”
But he didn’t budge.
He shook his head with an air of mild affront. “No, no, Libby. Se me ha caído.”
Not only was there no remorse, but Pedro proceeded to tell me how much a new glass panel would cost. The man wanted me to hand over €150 so he could replace the pane—as if the hoe had orchestrated the entire fiasco on its own.
I should’ve been annoyed.
But the sheer insouciance of it all was hilarious. Pedro had just caused €150 worth of damage and carried the entire conversation as though he were simply the messenger for an accident that had absolutely nothing to do with him.
How to Avoid Responsibility in Spanish
After Pedro left with the €150 (and his ever-present grin intact), I decided to investigate the linguistic magic behind his phrase: se me ha caído.
In English, we’d say, “I dropped the hoe.”
Simple, direct, and—crucially—accepting responsibility. But in Spanish, the construction shifts the blame entirely. Se me ha caído transliterates to “It fell away from me,” making it sound like the hoe acted on its own, completely outside Pedro’s control.
This construction is often used to sidestep responsibility. Add haber in the past perfect (ha caído), and the phrase takes on an almost wistful, “what can you do?” quality.
Linguistically, this delights me.
Whether it’s a cultural reflection of collectivism or just a clever way to smooth over awkward moments, it’s a brilliant tool for avoiding the “shame” we English speakers tend to heap on ourselves.
Putting It to the Test
A few weeks later, I decided to channel my inner Pedro. We were dining at a restaurant when, with a grand and unintentional flourish, I knocked a glass of red wine onto the tiled floor.
The room went silent. All eyes were on me.
Normally, I’d feel the heat of embarrassment rising in my cheeks and stammer something overly apologetic like, “I’m so, so sorry—I dropped it!”
But this time, I took a breath, stood tall, and calmly announced, “Se me ha caído.”
I could feel the stares soften. A waiter whisked the glass shards away with a smile, and the moment passed without incident.
Thanks to Pedro, I’d discovered the Spanish way of handling mishaps—with a shrug, a reflexive verb, and absolutely no shame. It was liberating.
And honestly? I might never take the blame for a broken glass again.