Handling a Crisis

Chapter Thirty-One: Down in the Dumps

Edit: translation fix

"Okay, what are you gonna do when you see him?"

"I am going to say hello and that he looks nice."

"And then?"

"I'm gonna crack a few jokes with him."

"Good, good, and then?

"I'm gonna go with him to the back of the club where he would usually hang out and we're gonna talk."

"Yes, and then?"

"We're gonna go outside, wander around for a bit, and then I'll escort him home. Either that, or he'll escort me home."

America's kids and Confederacy clapped at America successfully repeating the plan they'd created. "Wait, you know what you're wearing tonight, right?" Illinois asked.

"A black crop top, my green bomber jacket, high-waisted blue jeans, and black Vans."

"Perfect," Puerto Rico said, giving America a thumbs-up.

"Okay, just stick to the plan," Connecticut reminded him. "Do that, and everything will be just fine."

North Dakota raised his hand. "Uh, question," he interjected. "Why did we make a plan in the first place?"

"Because Dad has no idea what the fuck he should do on a not-date-at-a-bar while sober," South Dakota responded. Utah rolled his eyes at South Dakota's use of profanity.

America pointed at South Dakota and nodded. "Yup," he confirmed.

"I still can't believe you're not going to drink," Alaska said.

America shrugged. "I'm not losing to Russia, and he's not gonna wanna lose to me." The kids didn't know about Russia trying to cut back on the drinking, and it wasn't his place to tell them, so an alcohol-free night competition was the best explanation.

"Look, Dad, everything's gonna be fine!" Missouri assured him. "The plans' pretty straightforward, so there aren't a lot of opportunities to mess up."

"Actually–"

"Can it, Kansas."

Taking a deep breath, America stood up with a confident expression. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Okay, cool!" Ohio exclaimed. She pulled America towards the stairs. "Now, come on! You have a totally-absolutely-100%-not-date to get ready for!"

"Hey, don't use a sarcastic tone! This isn't a date!" Everyone scoffed at that.

A few moments later, America walked down the stairs. Everyone turned their attention to him as he reached the bottom. "So, are you ready for your date?" SpaceX asked.

"SpaceX, it's not a date," America told him.

"Dad, you're literally spendin' the entire night with a guy and just talkin' to him, maybe even dancin' with him for awhile," Alabama pointed out. "How is that not a date?"

"Because we never agreed it was a date. For it to be a date, we both need to say it's a date."

"Mom, if I mashed a bunch of strawberries and mixed in sugar, I could just say I'm creating some random goo in the kitchen. Other people would say I'm making jam. What's the difference? The difference is what we call it. It still accomplishes the same thing," Washington reasoned. "Therefore, you're going on a date with Russia."

"Washington, this isn't the same thing as making jam–"

"Look, Meri, you can argue 'bout this as much as you want later, but right now, we gotta get goin'," Confederacy interrupted.