(A/N: This came to me at 4 o'clock in the morning when I was too sick to sleep and higher than a kite on cough medicine. Don't expect much.)
Today was pretty much an average meeting-day lunch. All the nations had gathered in the cafeteria and were grabbing there meals from a rather impressive buffet and going to sit with their significant others and/or friends.
America smiled down at his meal; it was the regular: two large hamburgers, complete with the works, and as many fries as he could scoop onto one plate. It was a lovely little collage of carbs, grease, and fat. Now all that was left was to find a suitable place for the hero himself to sit. Scanning the sea of tables and chatting couples until he found one that was to his liking. England, France, Spain, and Belgium were sitting there. Spain seemed to be gushing over something (no doubt Romano) to an apathetic England and France and Belgium were chatting politely across the table to each other. Smiling brightly, America dropped his tray down and slid in next to the female nation.
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"I've gotta hand it to you, France, you may be a pansy, but you make good fries," America commented as he shoved another handful into his mouth. Honestly, these things were like crack. France laughed good naturedly,
"Actually, America, "french fries" are not my creation, but rather lovely Mademoiselle Belgium's," he said pointing across the cafeteria table to the young lady sitting across from him and America. America stopped. What? But they were french fries. Didn't that automatically make them from France?
"Belgium? You mean the chick with the good waffles?" he asked, the gears in his head still trying to deal with the latest revelation. Belgium blushed, flattered, but shook her head.
"That's very nice of you to say, America, but "Belgian waffles" are actually from France..." America couldn't take any more of this. A groan escaped his lips as he slammed his head onto the Formica table top, rattling everyone's lunch trays.
"I will never understand you Europeans," he groaned. France just chuckled and patted America's head.
"Don't worry, mon ami, we say the same about you."
(Um... hooray? God, this fic is A.W.F.U.L. It just sounds so... awkward. Why am I even posting it? Don't worry though, I'm working on the first chapter of a legit story and it'll be out soon enough. Think of this as one of those disgusting hors d'oeuvres that nobody eats, but are meant to tide you over until dinner comes.)