Harry

She sat at the table, carefully restoring her beloved vintage camera—a gift from her late grandfather. It was her most prized possession, requiring pinpoint precision.
Harry burst into the room, as usual, without knocking, his trademark goofy grin plastered on his face.
"Sister, sister," he drawled, looming over her. "What's this piece of iron? Let me spin it!"
"Harry, please move away! He's very fragile!" She tried to cover the camera with her hands.
But before the meaning of her words could sink in, his slow brain had already reached for the table. Moving with the grace of a hippopotamus, Harry caught his sleeve on the tripod, lost his balance, and fell with all his weight onto the table.
There was a terrible crunch. The camera lens literally crumpled under its weight, and the rare lenses rolled across the floor with a clanking sound.
Harry froze, blinking dumbly. About thirty seconds passed before he managed to say,
— "Oh... Is it broken? I just wanted to look..."
She looked at the fragments of her grandfather's gift and realized that her brother's impenetrable stupidity had just destroyed her favorite thing.