You'd think throwing away an old piece of styrofoam that had been included as packing material for a desktop computer would be relatively simple. Unless you had my relatives.
I told The Pony to put that piece of awkward white waste in the dumpster. The Pony reported that the dumpster was full, and that the lid was barely closing on the trash bags. Enter relative #2, the #1 son. "You need to take that over to the BARn. The Pony says it won't fit in the dumpster."
"All we need to do is burn it."
"We're not burning it now. Wait until your dad has more stuff to torch. Take it to the BARn."
#1, shirtless, in a pair of track pants and shower slides, entered the kitchen holding the slotted styrofoam slab. "I feel like I have a shield. Hey! Pony! Do you have a sword?"
That's like asking Farmer H if he has a chicken. Of course The Pony has a sword. Or, as The Pony put it, "I have one of every type." He went on to list them. And their relative merits. Furthermore, he informed #1 that he had a helmet. A Roman helmet. Which led to #1 parading in front of the mirror, shirtless, wielding a sword in one hand and a styrofoam shield in the other, while wearing a Marvin the Martian style helmet.
He's going to be eighteen in two months. I fear for the world when he moves out on his own.