"What's wrong with your hair color?" the Cuban asked as the Canadian picked up a box of hair dye. "I thought we just came her to get Neosporin."

"It just looks too much like America's hair." The Canadian sighed staring at the box as if it was worth more than artificial color. "Just like my eye color, face shape, height, shoe size, and everything else about me."

The Cuban almost said that America didn't have a busted lip at that moment. But, he stopped himself from saying anything in response. Mentioning the busted lip won't help his friend forget how he received it. Especially, if the creator is the one to bring it up.

"I'm just a clone." The Canadian set the hair dye back on the shelf, and picked up another box of the same brand just in a different color. "Maybe green is the way to go."

"Only if it's in a ecofriendly case." The Cuban frowned. "Your hair color doesn't exactly do anything for the environment."

The Canadian placed the box of hair dye next to the one he previously picked up. "Maybe I need something wild like a nose ring," he said unmoved by his friend's attempt to lighten up the mood.

"You're look like a cow." The Cuban smiled. "That will just make you look more like America!" he added laughing.

The Canadian didn't even smile. "I'm out of ideas," he admitted shrugging. "Maybe I should just give in, and style my hair exactly like America."

"What good would giving yourself a stupid cowlick do?"

"The same thing all my other bright ideas to look more Canadian did." The Canadian sighed, and looked at something that wasn't there on the ground. "Absolutely nothing."

"What exactly did you try?" the Cuban asked raising an eyebrow.

"You don't remember?" the Canadian asked turning to face the Cuban. "You gave me the same response each time I tried to show you my attempts."

"I did?" The Cuban didn't remember.

The Canadian looked around the store, then turned back to face the Cuban. "I would take off my shirt to show you all the footprints," he said softly, "but I'm afraid that doing that will get us kicked out for public disturbance."

Now the Cuban remembered. He thought he was proudly putting that American in his place, but as it turned out it wasn't that American after all. No wonder the land of the free seemed so much thinner those eleven times he stepped on him. "Sorry, I really thought you were America," he said apologizing.

"Its okay." The Canadian picked up a box of hair dye in another color. "Help me pick out a color, so we don't have this issue anymore."

The Cuban frowned at the boxes of artificial hair colors. None of them would be right on his friend. "I like your hair the way it is." He almost added that he liked the way his hair was never greasy, the way that one hair stood curly away from the other hairs on his head, and the way his hair never had a stupid cowlick. But, mentioning anything like that would just be a little awkward.

The Canadian put the box back on the shelf. "Crap," he said as it fell off the ledge. He bent down, picked it up, and placed it right back on the shelf. "Maybe hair dye isn't the way to go," he said sighing once he was positive that the box wasn't going to fall again. "Nose ring or lip piercing?"

"Neither." The Cuban frowned at the options. "You'll look like one of those hipsters that vandalize cars in parking lots." He almost mentioned that you can't get your lip pierced with a busted lip, but luckily he stopped himself.

The Canadian shrugged. "At least a juvenile delinquent doesn't look like America."

"Are you saying that hamburger breath doesn't look like some problematic piece of-"

The Canadian somehow cut him off. "America just doesn't have piercings." He paused for a second. "Maybe he got his ears done back in the..." He let his voice trail off in the memory. "Never mind, the point is America doesn't have facial piercings."

"That's one thing not wrong with hamburger breath," the Cuban said.

"Exactly." The Canadian turned to leave the aisle. The Cuban also turned to walk along with him. "Should I go with the left or right nostril?" he asked as they walked out of the aisle. "Or maybe I should just get the one that goes in the middle."

"Don't get any of those," the Cuban answered. "You'll look stupid and not like yourself."

The Canadian smiled awkwardly, like he wasn't sure if he should be smiling. "That's why it'll be perfect," he said as they walked to the checkout. "Golly, we came at a bad time," he exclaimed before the Cuban could say anything else about his idea for a nose piercing. "This is a pretty bad wait for just getting Neosporin."

The Cuban frowned at the sea of customers in line for checkout. "Does everybody shop here at the same time?"

"No this is actually a little unusual," the Canadian answered shrugging. "This really sucks, because I seriously have to go to the bathroom."

"I could hold our spot in line while you go to the restroom," the Cuban offered.

The Canadian really didn't want to leave the Cuban. He was afraid that if he left the Cuban wouldn't be able to recognize him when he came back. He really didn't want to be mistaken for America again to day. A busted lip was enough. "I don't mind waiting," he lied.

The Cuban frowned. "If you have to pee, then just go to the bathroom. There really isn't any point in holding it if the bathroom is just right there." He pointed to the restroom.

"Its okay." The Canadian looked around the crowded checkout area, avoiding making eye contact with the water fountains, vending machines that sold water, and the water gun some little kid was holding. "It won't be that much of a wait anyway."

"We have about twenty people in front of us, and this line isn't moving," the Cuban said raising an eyebrow. "Just go to the restroom."

"No." The Canadian looked around the room for something that didn't remind him of rushing water. The drool falling out of the mouth of the Seeing Eye dog in front of them wasn't helping. Neither was the sweat dripping down the neck of the blind owner. So wasn't the soccer mom buying multiple bottles of water. Or the kid buying a book on marine life. Nor was the toddler singing "Row, row, row, your boat gently down the stream". Hell, everything in this checkout area reminded the Canadian of water. There were even teenagers, in the line next to them, talking about their weekend trip to some waterpark.

"The rapids were totally rushing fluid at me at a top speed," said one of those teenagers.

Another teenager giggled. "Dude, you got soaked on that one."

"Totally, you where like a walking waterfall with rushing water for the rest of that day," said another teenager smiling.

The Canadian tried to ignore their conversation, but those pesky teenagers were talking way too loud. Why did every sentence they uttered from their mouth had to contain something about water?

"That waterpark had such clean water," said one of the teenagers. "I could even see my beautiful refection in the river."

"That's because it wasn't real river water," replied another teenager. "If it was a river like the Nile, the longest running river in the world, or the Mississippi, another river with a lot of fluids, or the Rio Grande, that flowing liquid between Texas and Mexico, the water won't have been so clear."

"Or the Godavari river in India," said another teenager chuckling. "Isn't that the river were people bathe and piss in?"

Great, now the Canadian was picturing these rivers in his head. This really wasn't helping his bladder. Especially, since one of the teenagers said the word piss. Why were these teenagers talking about rivers anyway? That didn't fall in normal teenager conversation.

"I thought that was some river in China," remarked another teenager. "Maybe the long rushing amount of fluid that used for relieve your bladder, and cleaning yourself does belong to India." The kid shrugged. "I really don't know who owes that large amount of running liquid fluids used to dismiss your dying urge to pee."

Normal people don't talk like this. Normal people don't call a river "the large amount of running liquid fluids". In fact, normal people don't go off on educational topics such as rivers. Especially, if these normal people were teenagers.

"Canada, are you okay?" the Cuban asked interrupting the Canadian's listening to the teenagers. "You appear to be shaking in some sort of potty dance."

The Canadian stopped himself from shaking, and turned to face the Cuban. "I'm fine. I just want this wait to be over so I can get to the bathroom."

"I'll hold are spot in line," the Cuban offered again.

The Canadian shrugged. "No, the wait won't be much longer," he lied. "I can hold it until then."

The Cuban raised an eyebrow. "Just go to the bathroom. You're doing some sort of ridiculous potty dance."

"Its okay. I don't have to go that bad anyway," the Canadian lied stopping himself from dancing again.

"Are you afraid of using a public restroom or something?"

"No," the Canadian answered truthfully. "Yay, we're moving ahead two steps in line." He stepped forward.

The Cuban also took two steps forward. "Then what's keeping you from going to the restroom here?"

"Nothing," the Canadian lied avoiding making eye contact with the Cuban. "I just like to wait in lines."

"Seriously, you can tell me," the Cuban said. "If it's some embarrassing secret I'll keep it secret."

"Its not." The Canadian looked around for something distracting that didn't involve water. "Hey, looks like gum is on sale today."

The Cuban ignored the gum comment. "Then why won't you tell me?"

"I-" The Canadian cut himself off. He really didn't want to tell the Cuban why. "Hey, if you buy three bottles of sunblock you get the fourth one half off."

"Just tell me." The Cuban almost sounded demanding.

The Canadian sighed. "Fine, I'm scared that if I leave you, you'll mistake me as America when I come back."

"Oh." The Cuban thought for a second. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," the Canadian said weakly.

"Go to the restroom," the Cuban said sighing. "I promise that I won't mistake you as America." He almost added that you couldn't mistake people you love as other people, because the people you love somehow have more beauty to them.

"Okay." The Canadian walked away even though he had doubt in the Cuban's promise. "I'll be right back," he said turning around one last time before walking off completely.

How did that American get a busted lip just like the Canadian? The Cuban clenched his fist ready to make a punch. No, wait that's not hamburger breathe. He didn't have a stupid cowlick. "Hey, Canada, the line didn't move at all while you were gone."

The Canadian almost fainted at the sound of his name. Did the Cuban seriously not mistake him as America? "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For not mistaking me as America." The Canadian smiled and gave the Cuban a hug.


And then this beautiful dream turned into a horrible nightmare, because Cuba decided that the guy hugging him wasn't Canada. Then Canada woke up half- naked in a Denny's parking lot, with a terrible headache and a strange hankering for Betty Crocker cake. THE END

My buddy Ash, AWriterthatCan'tSpell, wanted me to write her a Cuba/Canada story. This is what I came up with. I'm not really a fan of these guys, as ya can tell from the paragraph above. Cuba is ugly and Canada gets paired more with Ukraine, Prussia, Netherlands, and any other name you can draw out of a hat more anyway. So, I apologize for not making this as fluffy as Ash wanted.