Mexico, the kinda Maid of America

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This is a random Drabble of my Mexico.

~

Looking at her maid dress in the mirror Mexico frowned.

"Maria! I dropped my hamburger and fries!" The American yelled.

With a sigh she made her way out of the room and into the kitchen. America was staring at his fallen McDonalds bag, brows furrowed.

"You couldn't pick up the bag by yourself?" Mexico asked. "I know I lost our bet and I your maid for a week but that just lacey."

"Hey it happened so fast, I wasn't sure how to react!" He whined as he looked to her. "Oh hey you're actually dressed as a maid."

"France tell me you say I have to!"

"No I didn't." He laughed, sipping his soda.

"I change then." She turned.

"Well you don't have to." America murmured. "You can stay like that. Looks y'know, nice."

Mexico looked his way, brown eyes questioning.

He met her gaze, then his eyes wondered a bit. The Mexican woman's tan skin lit red. "I'm changing!"

"Gotcha." He replied awkwardly.

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