I have tonnes of them.
So many, I could open my own little shop and sell them. I reckon there might be a market for it. The homeless, for one. People moving house. Children who always prefer the packaging to the actual toy.
"Parents - this christmas, save some money and give the kids what they really want - a nifty set of boxes"
The source of these pesky items in my life is a company called Baxter. They supply all the dialysis equipment and fluid needed by Brendan and they arrive at my place every two weeks to deposit another mountain of boxes in the space most normal people would reserve for a dressing table or a wardrobe or a cardboard cutout of Barack Obama.
I have long since prophesised that if Kidney Disease doesn't kill me, I will probably die as a result of a box accident. One day, I'll go to drag one of them from the stack in the spare room and they'll all come tumbling down on top of me.
Each box weighs approximately 20lbs and just after delivery there would be approximately 35 of these neatly piled in one corner, so it wouldn't take much to knock the breath out of my lungs and do me in.
"Here lies Regina - her kidneys failed, but in the end, it was re-enforced cardboard that killed her. RIP".