Dear Iggy,

Hi! First of all, I should probably let you know that I'm a proud AMERICAN, that I will always be a proud AMERICAN and that I find the fact that you, the most powerful empire at the time, lost to a bunch of colonists quite amusing. Maybe it was the fact that your men walked in a single file line through a forest wearing bright red coats. I dunno, I'm sure your military expertise is VASTLY superior than mine so you must have had SOME reason for doing something so stupid. There was something else I wanted to say... oh yeah! VIVA AMERICA!

There, now I've gotten my patriotism out of the way. What I really wanted to say was that I really love and respect your culture. Especially your books! Ohhhh, you books! Jane Austin, J. K. Rowling, C. S. Lewis- they were my childhood! And as for your cooking, I tried a scone once and it wasn't that bad. A little on the petrified couch stuffing side but yeah, not bad at all. And just for the record, I hate hamburgers. XP

With love,

A Bloody Latina Wanker

P.S. I actually have a bigger bone to pick with Spain than with you. Ugh, he was a monster in his Conquistador days! At least you had the decency to steal a lot of the gold he got from the Americas. XD

Dear Latina Wanker,

I'll ignore your first paragraph—for now.

Absolute respect, is all I can say. It's high time SOMEONE noticed me for my great accomplishments…and not for my eyebrows. I agree, my culture is VERY fascinating, much more so than that idiot wanker, France's. Good God, he eats frog legs and snails for supper! How can that be, in any way, a nutritious meal like he claims it is? I think it's repulsing! But at least he doesn't eat snakes and spiders, like some Middle Easterner I know…

And finally, someone who thinks my food is above wretched! I mean, I suspected it wasn't that horrible all along, but…wait a second, did you say petrified couch stuffing…?

Well, in any case, thank you for your enthusiasm, but over all, you're still a wanker for thinking my military plans were stupid.

But even I'm not sure why we lost...Perhaps it was because my men didn't know what they were fighting for, and, quite honestly, neither did I. All I knew was that I was losing my people, and I felt the responsibility that I had to retrieve them. But Alfred…he was so special to me, I couldn't bear to lose him. I felt like a man who had lost a part of him, a part of his heart. I wanted to believe that all I wanted was my dignity back; I felt I had lost it when I lost the colonies to rebellion. That was like a major hit to my groin, and it was very embarrassing.

But with the turn of the war, I noticed my men's reaction to the war. They wanted to stop, to return home. They said there was no reason for them to fight. They recognized Alfred and his followers as the beginning product of the country I was supposed to help him become. They told me they couldn't continue fighting when the other team desperately wanted something they'd been dreaming of for years. They left me to battle Alfred alone.

And I was in the way of that. I never had to actually gain my own independence, so I couldn't find the connection to relate to Alfred. I knew the day would come when he would become a young man, but I couldn't accept that he'd have to leave me one day. After all, he was a country when I found him; that would never change, a country is a country. And I had taught him to believe in himself, to believe in his dreams, to always hope and continue dreaming.

I'd taught him to never let those hopes or dreams go.

I realized dignity didn't matter, that's not what I had been fighting for. So many friends have left me. It wasn't until the near end of the revolution, when I gazed into Alfred's eyes, that I realized what a monster I'd become. I'd been caging all my friends inside the walls of my culture, my country, and I'd never once permitted them the choice to spread their wings and develop. I had been entrusted to help growing countries become great, and I had completely ignored that.

I hated myself for the longest time after the war. I became a recluse; I couldn't bear to see the faces of those I'd once called friend.

Then World War I came, and I found a way to make myself useful again. I had patched up some of my relationships with some of the other countries, but I was still awkward with America. He made a very ingenious statement, though.

America told me I did help him grow. If the war hadn't occurred, he would have never learned to fight for himself. Without me there to pick him back up, he learned to feed his own country. He'd figured out how to survive without help, without backup. And he'd learned to believe in other people besides the seemingly more powerful ones, like myself. He learned to trust in mankind, something I'd been out of tune with.

America is a fine country, and though I sometimes want to bomb the living hell out of him and his people (their tourists are TERRIBLE and so are some of their manners), I accept the entirety of it. America is my friend and my ally. It's very important to me; the people, the culture, and the leader.

Oh, look at me, I've teared up and cried a bit onto the paper. I hate getting emotional. Rip up this letter the second you've finished reading it; I don't want people to think of me as the sentimental type. That's embarrassing.

Thank you for your letter…it's stirred up some emotions I fear I've been ignoring far too long. I'll pay Alfred a visit later this week. It would be good to get out a little more.

Besides, my cat is still freaking me out.

Arthur Kirkland

PS: I swear to God I don't have an Avon lady, so why the hell did I get a letter from one?!