So let's say you've got a son, 7 years old, and at that delightful stage where he believes his mother to be the most beautiful woman on earth and periodically declares his fervent intent to marry her when he grows up. And it is his birthday and your parents have sent him (among other things) a toy dagger/sword which he loves with the white heat of a thousand suns, a sword that is so legendary in quality and appearance that it deserves a name.
Oedipus. That's what he named it.
Either Rob needs to start sleeping with one eye open, or we should perhaps reconsider the many and varied books of Greek mythology we've purchased over the last year to slake the boy's latest obsessive thirst for knowledge.