Set after the events of my last one-shot, well a few weeks after methinks XD Dib and Amy are having a laugh when Amy asks Dib for something that gets blown wildly out of proportion due to the differences in terms between American English and British English… Let embarrassment and fluff unfold!

I scowled down at the drawing I had been trying to perfect for the past thirty minutes and rolled my eyes. I just couldn't get the shapes right! The pencil just chose to hate me today. I rummaged around the draws in my desk and under my bed but couldn't find what I was looking for. Dib leaned over my bed so that his upside down head hovered besides mine. I didn't notice until I was about to get up, which made me jump.

He smirked at my reaction, "Looking for something in particular."

"A rubber." I sighed.

For some reason, his head snapped upright to look at me, his pupils dilating vastly in his widening eyes, "A w-what?"

"Rubber." I repeated, "I'm sure I had some around here, you don't have any so you?"

His mouth hung open slightly and he seemed to be shaking slightly, "Uh…"

"I'll give it right back, I only need it for a second." I reassured him.

He slowly got to his feet and started edging towards my bedroom door. I watched him in confusion, what was making him act so weird? It was a simple enough question that deserved a simple enough answer. Why was he acting like I was asking him to jump off a cliff?

"I-I don't s-sorry…" He swallowed, "W-why would y-you need one?"

I crossed my arms and tapped the sketch irritably, "For my drawing, I've made another mistake and need to rub it out."

He sighed with relief and clutched the area over his head, "Oh thank god…"

I arched my brow, "Uh… okay? I'm missing something."

He started laughing, "You mean an eraser!"

I rolled my eyes, "Well, yeah. No need to get technical, we call them rubbers in the U.K."

Once again, he burst into fits of laughter, gripping his sides. He gasped for breath and lost his balance, falling off of the bed and rolling on the floor. An alarm bell was starting to ring inside my head. What had brought this on and why had he looked so terrified earlier? I swallowed thickly and tried to prepare myself for the worst.

"Dib, what exactly does 'rubber' mean in this country?"

He stopped laughing and blushed, pushing himself to his feet. He scratched the back of his head anxiously and chewed his lip.

"Uh, well, you see, in America, rubbers are what we call…" he cleared his throat and moved over to whisper the answer in my ear.

Blood rushed to my cheeks turning them scarlet. Oh hell… No wonder he'd been so terrified! God knows what he thought I'd been suggesting! He stepped away and nodded in anxiousness, waiting for me to react further. I bit down hard on my lip and smacked my hand to my head. He started laughing again and sat down on the bed, folding his arms in amusement.

"Should I be worried about asking what you call sidewalks?" he sniggered.

I glared at him through my fingers as I answered, "Pavements. Anyway, you can talk! You can't even say aluminium right! It's Al-um-inium, not Al-loo-minum!"

He scoffed, "Oh right, and calling fries 'chips' makes so much more sense."

"It makes more sense than calling biscuits cookies! Where I come from, the snack in question must be of a certain standard before earning that name." I nodded, deliberately making the issue sound more high-class than it actually was.

"Okay," he raised his eyebrows challengingly, "What do you call potato-chips?"

"Crisps, what do you call ice-lollies?"

"Popsicles. Trash?"

"Rubbish. Trousers?"

"Pants." He paused, "Pants?"

I smirked, "Girls underwear."

"Oh…" he shifted slightly.

"See, not so simple, is it?" I grinned, taking a seat next to him.

He shrugged, desperate to change subject from undeerwear, "Is there any anything specific to where you're from? There's bound to be a few Welsh slang-stuff out there."

I nodded, "Well you already know what a cwtch is… Oh, when something starches you, we call it a scram. And we don't say tooth, it comes out as tuth."

"That's kinda weird." He smiled apologetically, "Man, Zim's not even from this planet and he picked up the language better than you."

I laughed and punched his arm playfully, "You're defending him now? Anyway, he can't even get our names right and he calls Ms. Bitters Sir!"

Dib sniggered and returned the gesture and shrugged in defeat. My hand found his and our fingers laced together.

"You know, I still kinda like that cwtch thing though."

I grinned and rested my head on his shoulder, "That's my favourite too."

I could hear him swallow thickly and his jaw opened and closed like he was trying to find the right words. In honestly, I had no clue what he was going to say so there was no way I could help him out. All there was to do was wait patiently. I'd never really noticed how many differences there was between U.S and U.K English, it was still English language after all! Why did people have to make it so difficult. Ah well, I didn't mind so much, it made life more fun. Although after the eraser/rubbing thing, I was now vastly considering buying an American dictionary for future safety. Finally, Dib brought me from my thoughts by speaking.

"So, what do you Britt's call, you know, a k-kiss?" he stammered.

I smiled, "Well, there's all different ones. There's pecking, getting off with someone, giving someone a snog -"

"A snog?" he blurted, "What sounds like a cross-over between a snail and a slug!"

I burst out laughing, never really seeing it like that before. Dib had a point, it did sound pretty nasty. He started chuckling with me, resting his head on mine. After a moment, I pulled away and placed a hand under his chin, lifting his head to look at me. He arched his brow in confusion at the change in movements. I gave him a soft smile to reassure him.

"I prefer this term for it though…"

Before he could ask me what it was, I lifted my head to place a soft kiss on his lips, lingering for a second before pulling away again. He grinned and blushed slightly.

"Uh, yeah, I like that one too…" he breathed, "But you still don't have a clue about football."

I threw my hands in the air, "Why call it football if you use your hands? You're playing a weird version of rugby and you don't even know it! If you call your soccer football, and your football rugy, you'd be doing it right."

"It's right the way it is!"

"You don't even like football!"

"Neither do you!"

"So we understand each other?"

He leant forward and placed another peck against my lips, cutting me off and taking me by surprise. He smirked and shrugged, taking my hand again.

"More or less, yeah."

I laughed and shoved him away from me playfully before getting to my feet and looking back at my desk. Sighing, my eyes traced the still unfinished scribbles and the mistake that had still yet to be fixed. I turned back to him and tapped the paper.

"I still need that rubber though."

His eyebrows shot up, "I have that much of an effect?"

My cheeks burned and I buried my face in my hands, groaning at the mistake I'd made again. I peeked through my fingers and saw him biting his lip, trying his best not to laugh at me. And he was failing miserably.

"Eraser! I meant eraser!" I chucked my pencil at him playfully, which he easily avoided, "Oh you know what I meant!"

"Sure I did," he winked.

I gave a dry laugh and chose to close my sketch book, finding that it was causing me nothing but embarrassment and annoyance. Turning around, I saw him smiling sheepishly at me. My eyebrows arched suspiciously as he got to his feet and held a closed hand out to me.

"I, uh, I did have one after all…"

My eyes widened, panic starting to set in. That was, until he unclenched his fingers to reveal a small pencil with an eraser secured into it. He reddened at my reaction and at my sigh of relief, suddenly understanding how he had made his offer sound. He dropped the pencil in my hand and nervously ran a hand through his hair.

"So, uh… What were you drawing?"

Thankful for the change in topic, I hastily pulled out my sketch pad again and opened it for him, revealing the scribbles and sketches I had made over the years. As he admired the pieces, which in my opinion were of terrible quality, I made a promise to myself. The moment he left, I was going to by an American dictionary and study like my life depended on it. And knowing how my luck turned out most of the time, it probably would! You can die of embarrassment, you know, and today was too close for comfort…