Ireland found America in the laundry room, a pile of clothes in his arms. She grimaced a little, knowing that with her quick temper and clumsy fingers, if he wanted her to sew; he was going to be disappointed.
"Umm, yes sir?"
She hated how meek and lowly she sounded. America didn't seem to notice, and smiled down warmly at her.
"Call me America. Sir sounds too…Englandish..."
He stuck out his tongue in disgust, which caused Ireland to giggle.
"Yes America, then."
He grinned, liking the way she said his name with that funny accent.
"Ireland, I need you to patch up these shirts, and then I need you to begin sewing some more for me. My closet's been a bit out-of-date for a while, and I think it would be the perfect job for you. See- I even got you a sewing machine!"
He pointed proudly at the large, complicated looking device in one corner of the large room.
Ireland gulped, having never seen anything like it before, but nodded, not wanting to look stupid.
"Yes America."
She carefully took the large pile of clothes from his arms, and set them down tenderly next to the machine. America waved goodbye, and walked briskly out of the room, his one stray hair bouncing comically above his head.
Ireland sighed a little. This wasn't exactly what she had in mind. She could do hard labor, yeah, sometimes; she even enjoyed the farm work, all the outside chores. This though, she felt, was a little degrading.
Mindless hours spent bending over a sewing machine wasn't too appealing to the rambunctious Irish lady.
"The treatment of the boiled broken little fish to you…" she muttered though. Ireland felt guilty- she was being selfish for asking so much, when she really could only give a little. America was this great, powerful nation, and he had helped her in her darkest hour. You can't get much luckier than that.
She sighed, suppressing all of her raging emotions. America needed mended clothes, and she was the lass to do it.
But how to work the machine…