All we wanted was an R2-D2

The 3-year-old doesn't care about anything else from Star Wars, not yet. She's just all about the R2-D2.

She loves the little fella, and his beeps and whoops, and almost lost her mind when she thought he had been hurt in the first film. There is just something in R2's blue and white colours, and that comfortable dustbin shape, that is eternally appealing to kids. Accept no substitutes.

We had a little action figure sized Artoo that was a cherished toy, and of course he got easily crushed behind the bedroom door. Even though he was shattered into several pieces, the kid had such faith that her dumb old dad could take Artoo away and fix him, I had to do something. 

And it was so hard. I went around multiple toy shops and department stores, but all the Star Wars toys were angry Mandalorians, not dependable and friendly droids. The cool Star Wars toys used to be so hard to find in this part of the world, but even though there are a lot more super cool armoured posers to buy nowadays, just finding a specific character was extremely difficult.

It took weeks to find a replacement, but I ended up finding one based on the Droids cartoon at a local dork store. It cost $30 and is worth a lot less now after I tore into it as soon as I got it out of the shop and gave it to the kid, proudly declaring that her dad had, indeed, fixed it.

She's still young enough that she didn't really notice that it's significantly less robust than the original, with flimsier plastic, and I don't expect it to last. Another replacement mission is inevitable.

But this might be my life now, 'fixing' broken R2-D2s. One day I might have to tell her how we sent all the broken ones to live in a Farm near Endor or something. The truth is just too mean.