A Dubious Sort of Date

This isn't what I expected when I decided to proceed. A private conversation with the President seemed like a good way to advertise my company and the newest generation of laser weapons. I even would have given a little bit of a price break to the New Republic, for some guarantees, of course. That's the way politics works – a favor for a favor.

And this little 'date' isn't exactly cheap, I'll have you know. Twenty-three thousand credits it's costing me, although I can use it as a tax write-off because the money is going to some environmental charity that the President is personally involved with. That was my winning bid for a 'dinner date with the President.' Still, it would be a small price to pay if I sold those weapons.

But now…. these things never seem to work out as intended. A small war broke out last night on some backwater planet, and the President had to call an emergency session with her cabinet. Her secretary called me this morning to let me know she can't make our 'date', but her husband would fill in, if that was okay with me.

What could I say? No? I don't want to eat dinner with the infamous General Han Solo? Well, I didn't want to, but that wouldn't exactly put me and my company in the President's good graces, if you know what I mean.

So here I sit, waiting alone at a table in an upscale, very expensive restaurant, waiting for the President's husband to show up. Maybe he'll appreciate hearing about the fine quality of my company's laser weapons, and suggest to his wife that the New Republic should buy them. I hope so, anyway, or I've just wasted a lot of money; money that could have spent on new hair pieces.

Oh, here he comes. And judging by the scowl on his face, it doesn't look like he's too happy about this 'date', either.

Great. Just kriffin' great. She knows how I hate schmoosing with rich, stuck-up beings, and once again I got sucked into a dinner with a rich, stuck-up being. It wouldn't be so bad if I went along with her, but oh, nooo. Another political crisis comes up, and who has to step up and save the day? Well, besides Leia stopping that war, I mean. ME! Good old Han.

'Han,' Leia asks me, ever so sweetly, as we got ready for bed last night. 'I need you to do me a huge favor.' Then she bats her eyes at me. Okay, maybe not exactly bats. Leia ain't the batting sort. But she sure knows how to use her feminine charms to manipulate me. Maybe she even used her Force-willies to sway my mind. When she first told me what she wanted me to do, I said a big, FORCEFUL, 'No!' And then, she sighed, and said it was really important, and started kissing my neck, and next thing I knew, I caved in and said I'd take her place at this dinner date thing.

So here I am all dressed up in my finest (translate this to: uncomfortable) clothes, and having to smile and make small talk for the next two hours - all because of some endangered tree-toads on Naboo and some brain-dead idiots on the other side of the galaxy that can't stop shooting at each other.

And do you want to know what's the very worst part of this 'date'? The high bidder (twenty-three thousand! For ONE meal! Are tree-toads really worth that kind of money?) was some pompous old rich guy. Got that? Guy, as in male. So I - Han Solo - have to go out on a 'date' with a MAN! Oh, the indignities that I suffer for love. But next time, she can con her brother into taking her place.

The End