Inspired by Teobi's Dusty's Trail drabbles, this will be a place for me to post a collection of little stories that aren't significant enough to stand alone. The theme, I've come to discover, is clothing (accessories, laundry, etc) and what these things say about the character. The castaways are so easily identified by their signature outfits, recognizable all over the world, easy to do as Halloween costumes, that it almost seems important to bring attention to it.
Proffy's socks always make me giggle, so here's the world's first Sockfic. o.O It's G/P, of course.
Socks
Professor Roy Hinkley is not a fashionable man. He doesn't need to be. He's worn a variation of the same outfit every day for years. His students wore a uniform and so did he. It was reliable, comfortable, and practical.
He was like Fred Flintstone.
Or Gilligan.
He owns one nice suit and twelve lab coats. On special occasions he dons his wool jacket with the leather elbow patches.
He knows his pants are too short, but it's not something to be concerned about. He knows he pulls his socks all the way up, but there are practical reasons for this.
No one wants bugs up their pant legs or poison ivy on their ankles.
Occasionally, in a rare moment of vanity, he contemplates fixing them. He's not a total egghead, despite what Mr. Howell says. He considers pulling his socks down just an inch or two, to let them wrinkle naturally, casually, as if he hadn't noticed.
He never contemplates this for long, though, because there are more important things to think about on the island. Fresh water, food, headhunters, keeping Gilligan away from his latest experiment. He also doesn't contemplate it very long because eventually Ginger will wander by.
Her eyes will flicker to his socks and she'll arch one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. She always grins at him teasingly, calls him "grandpa" or asks where his kilt is. Ginger winks at him, giggles at the dumbfounded look on his face, and squeezes his shoulder affectionately as she passes.
He briefly contemplates fixing his socks, but, after all, no one wants bugs up their pant legs or poison ivy on their ankles...