Side note: I'm British, which explains why I spell words like 'behaviour' and 'colour' with the 'u'. (My spellchecker goes nuts if I don't.) Also, jewelry/jewellery and one or two others. But I expect that'll be the least of your worries as you wade your way through my latest offering.
All characters belong to Sherwood Schwartz. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!
Learned Behaviour
Mary Ann dabbed her brow with a handkerchief and stood back to admire her handiwork. The girls' hut was gleaming- and so it ought to be, because she had spent the entire morning sweeping, dusting, cleaning and polishing. There was not a speck of dirt to be found, nor a grain of sand that was out of place. The beds were made, the curtains were straightened, ornaments and accessories sparkled and both hers and Ginger's clothes were either hanging neatly in the closet or folded and put away.
Mary Ann allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction.
And then it happened.
The door burst open with a crash and Gilligan came haring into the hut whooping and hollering as though his pants were on fire. The curtains billowed outwards, whirlwinds of sand blew up, and as he ran past with his arms waving he bumped into a table and knocked over a shiny gourd, spilling water and freshly cut flowers everywhere.
Mary Ann watched with dismay as a whole morning's work began unravelling in front of her.
"Gilligan, what on earth is wrong with you?" she cried, helplessly.
The First Mate ran around and around the flustered farm girl, creating huge ruts in the sand and making her go cross eyed as she turned in circles to keep up with him.
"Mary Ann, Mary Ann, help! Help! It's gonna get me!"
Mary Ann ducked quickly as a gangly arm almost knocked her over.
"What's going to get you, Gilligan?"
"That!" Gilligan pointed at a single, solitary bee that had flown into the hut behind him.
Mary Ann threw her arms in the air, completely exasperated. "Gilligan! It's one bee! One tiny bee!"
"It may be one tiny bee, but it's got friends," Gilligan panted. "BIG friends! And they're all after me for taking their honey!"
"But you're always taking their honey!"
"I take it so that we can have pies," Gilligan wailed, pulling Mary Ann's blouse askew as he grabbed her shoulders and ducked behind her to avoid the little insect.
"And I'm very grateful that you do," Mary Ann sighed, "but you could have picked a different hut to go running through! I just spent all morning cleaning up this..."
But Gilligan wasn't listening any more. Flailing his hands at the bee, the panicked First Mate ran across the hut and took a flying dive straight through the open window, catching the bottom of one curtain with his feet and pulling it clean off the rail as he disappeared head first through the opening.
Mary Ann rolled her eyes in despair and went to retrieve the curtain from the floor. It was all rumpled and covered in sand and when she shook it out the sand blew into her face from the now wide open window. Meanwhile, Gilligan was racing across the clearing like a red windmill with the valiant little bee in hot pursuit.
Mary Ann stood at the window and watched him until he turned a corner and was gone.
"Oh, Gilligan," she sighed, the formerly clean curtain drooping in her hands.
oOo
That evening, he did it again. Mary Ann had just finished laying out their supper dishes on a table in the Supply hut when the door slammed open and Gilligan came flying in, gasping and out of breath. She ran across the hut to stop him from colliding with their food, making it just in time. Gilligan skidded to a halt with just a hair's breadth of a gap between him and the table.
Mary Ann folded her arms and glared at the pale faced First Mate. "What is it this time?" she demanded.
"Headhunters," gasped Gilligan.
Mary Ann froze in shock. "Headhunters?" she bleated in a squeaky voice.
Gilligan wagged his head vehemently. "No."
"'No'? What do you mean, 'no'?" Mary Ann shook her friend with a little more force than she intended. "Gilligan, you said 'headhunters'. Stop playing games and tell me what you mean!"
Gilligan steadied himself and gulped a lungful of air. "I mean, I thought I saw headhunters," he explained, breathlessly. "Out there," he added, pointing somewhat unnecessarily at the jungle.
"You thought you saw headhunters?"
"Yeah, but it was just a group of weird looking trees. Weird looking, gnarly old bent over trees, like this." Gilligan hunched his shoulders, spread his fingers out like twigs on either side of his head, and proceeded to pull a series of grotesque but alarmingly convincing headhunter faces.
Mary Ann, however, was decidedly unimpressed. Her smooth forehead creased into an impatient frown.
"You thought you saw headhunters."
Gilligan paused, mid-face.
"Yeah."
"So you came running in here to frighten me."
"Well, I didn't mean to frighten you..." Gilligan lowered his hands from his head and began to look contrite.
"Oh? You thought that yelling 'headhunters' was going to make me happy?"
"No, but I made myself frightened and I just wanted to see you so I would feel better. I'm sorry if I bothered you, Mary Ann." Gilligan turned away with his shoulders drooping.
Mary Ann sighed. She seemed to do a lot of sighing where Gilligan was concerned.
"You didn't bother me, Gilligan. You almost knocked over the table with all of our supper dishes on it, that's all."
Gilligan looked back at her like a whipped puppy.
"I said I'm sorry, Mary Ann."
"I know," said Mary Ann, "and I accept your apology."
Gilligan jutted out his lower lip. "You know, Mary Ann, if there were headhunters, I would've seen 'em," he said, petulantly.
"I know you would have," said Mary Ann, smiling as encouragingly as she could.
"I would've saved everyone."
"I know you would."
"You would've been proud of me."
"I know. Very proud."
"At least it shows I'm on the lookout."
Mary Ann smiled and nodded. "It does, and we're all very grateful for it. You do a good job, Gilligan."
Satisfied with Mary Ann's responses, Gilligan turned to make a move towards the door, bumped the corner of the table with his hip and knocked a still-warm, freshly baked mango pie onto the floor, top side down.
"Oops," he muttered.
Mary Ann buried her face in her hands. "So much for being on the lookout," she said, mournfully.
oOo
Supper time passed without incident, as Gilligan was too busy shovelling food into his mouth to cause a disturbance for anyone else. But after supper, as Ginger and Mary Ann were washing the dishes, he dropped a stack of clean plates in the sand as he was carrying them back to the Supply hut. Ginger rolled her eyes pointedly as Mary Ann accepted the dirty plates from the apologetic First Mate, reassured him that she didn't hate him, and set about washing them all over again.
"He doesn't mean it," she said, scrubbing the plates a little too forcefully.
"I'm saying nothing," said Ginger, casually.
"He doesn't. He's just clumsy."
"Clumsy with great timing."
Mary Ann looked at Ginger with a questioning eyebrow.
"I'm saying nothing," the redhead repeated.
Mary Ann dropped her gaze and started scrubbing the plates even harder.
oOo
The next morning at breakfast, Gilligan began talking excitedly about his latest pirate dream. The Skipper nodded indulgently while Gilligan waved his arm around, pretending to sword fight. But the First Mate's excitement soon turned to horror when he knocked his cup over and spilled pineapple juice all over Mary Ann's gingham dress as she served up the pancakes.
The rest of the day progressed in much the same manner. Around mid morning, he accidentally tripped her over at the lagoon, he fell off the bamboo bicycle and almost landed on top of her while she did the laundry, and while the two of them were carrying the basket full of clean clothes back to camp, he stopped suddenly to pick up a shell and tipped his end of the basket into the sand.
Each and every time Gilligan did something inept, Mary Ann bit back her frustration and reassured him that it was all right, there was no harm done, nothing was injured except maybe her pride. But by mid afternoon, she was so tired from having to do every chore twice or even three times over that she felt as though she might burst into tears. She needed to vent, and so she sought out the only person whom she knew would let her.
Ginger.
"Honey, you look exhausted," said the movie star when Mary Ann turned up at the Supply hut.
"I am," Mary Ann confessed, sinking into the nearest chair.
"Let me guess," said Ginger, with a gentle smile. "Gilligan?"
Mary Ann folded her arms on the table and rested her head on top of them. She nodded without saying anything.
"I knew it," Ginger laughed. "Come on, Mary Ann. You and I need to have a talk."
Ginger led Mary Ann over to a bamboo sun lounger in the corner of the hut. "Lie down," she instructed.
Mary Ann protested immediately. "I can't go to sleep now, it's the middle of the day," she flustered.
"Not to sleep," said Ginger. "Go on, lie down. Trust me."
While Mary Ann did as she was told, Ginger unhooked her light blue 'lab coat' from a hook on the wall and retrieved her plastic spectacles from a shelf. Mary Ann watched with amusement as her friend put on her 'Doctor's Assistant' outfit and tied her fiery red hair up into an efficient, tidy bun. The movie star then grabbed a pencil and pad and came over to sit in a chair beside the lounger.
"Comfortable?" she asked.
"Very," replied Mary Ann. "And you?"
Ginger crossed her shapely legs and adjusted her posterior on the chair. "This isn't about me," she said, primly.
Mary Ann always admired the way Ginger settled so easily into her different roles. "Should I address you as Doctor Grant?" she asked.
"If you like," said Ginger. Then she looked at her watch. "This appointment is now in session."
"I hope you don't charge by the hour," said Mary Ann, "because if we're going to talk about Gilligan, we'll be here all day."
Ginger began writing in her pad. "'Going to be here all day'," she mouthed, while a secretive smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
Mary Ann pressed her head back against the lounger and sighed loudly. Ginger pulled her spectacles down to the end of her nose and smiled at Mary Ann over the frames.
"So tell me. What is it about Gilligan that gets you so worked up?"
"Besides everything?
"Come now, it can't all be bad."
"I didn't say it was bad."
Ginger scribbled in her pad. "All right then, let's try a different angle. Let's list all of Gilligan's good points."
Mary Ann smiled gently and a faraway look came into her eyes.
"He's kind. He's sweet. He's thoughtful, he cares about others. He's considerate. He loves animals. He's friendly, he's sensitive..."
"Some might say over sensitive," interrupted Ginger.
"He's easily hurt," Mary Ann agreed.
"Go on," Ginger nodded.
"He's funny, he's charming, he tries so hard to be helpful."
"These are all very good points."
Mary Ann smiled wistfully. "Yes, they are."
Ginger looked up from her pad. "Do you think he's cute?"
Mary Ann blushed.
"I'll take that as a 'yes'," said Ginger, writing it down. "Don't worry, I think he's cute too. Kind of like a pygmy marmoset. Or a startled meerkat."
"Or a bushbaby," Mary Ann agreed. "All eyes and nose."
"A face that tugs at the heart strings."
"Undoubtedly," Mary Ann nodded, soberly.
"So those are his good points," said Ginger, consulting her list. "Now. What about his bad points? We've mentioned that he's over sensitive."
"That was a good point."
"'Sensitive' is a good point. 'Over sensitive' is a bad point."
"Good point." Mary Ann smiled. "Of yours, I mean."
"I'm full of good points," said Ginger, creasing her nose attractively. "But back to Gilligan."
Mary Ann frowned in concentration. "Well, he's- that is to say, he's- gosh, I don't know!"
"Stubborn?" suggested Ginger.
Mary Ann smiled gratefully. "Yes, all right, stubborn."
"Moody?"
"Sometimes. But aren't we all?"
Ginger raised her eyebrows. "Are you making excuses for him?"
"No, I'm just saying that everyone has moods, it's not fair to say Gilligan's are any better or worse. After all, Mr. Howell sulks when he can't find that old teddy bear of his."
"What about when he pouts?"
Mary Ann pulled a face. "Mr. Howell? Personally, I think he's a little too old to be- "
"No," Ginger interrupted. "I meant Gilligan."
"Ugh, don't," said Mary Ann. "You just want to pick him up and hug him."
Ginger wrote something down in her pad. "Interesting," she mused, thoughtfully.
"What is?"
"That when Gilligan pouts, you want to pick him up and hug him."
Mary Ann rolled her eyes. "Don't take everything literally, Ginger."
Ginger tapped her chin with the end of the pencil. "You know what they say. 'Many a true word is spoken in jest'."
Mary Ann made a 'hmmph' sound and stared up at the hut ceiling with her arms folded.
"'Folds arms and gets defensive when asked to list Gilligan's bad points'," mouthed Ginger, scribbling in her pad.
Mary Ann unfolded her arms and sat up. "Do you actually have a degree in psychology?" she asked, a little sharply.
Ginger's eyes grew round and innocent behind her huge plastic spectacles. "No, but the Professor does. Would you like a second opinion?"
Mary Ann shook her head. "I'm not even sure I want a first opinion!"
Ginger began to laugh. "Oh, Mary Ann," she giggled. "It's so obvious what's going on. Can't you see it?"
"Of course I can see it!" Mary Ann heard her voice rise up a notch. "It's as clear as mud!"
Ginger leaned forward and put her hand gently on Mary Ann's arm. "You're very fond of Gilligan, aren't you?" she asked, softly.
Mary Ann sank back against the lounger, eyeing her friend warily.
"It's all right, you don't need to answer that, I know the answer is 'yes'."
"Don't you dare write it down," Mary Ann warned. "That's just between you and me."
"Of course," Ginger smiled. "Haven't you heard of Doctor/Patient confidentiality?"
"Except you're not a doctor, and I'm not a patient, and this whole thing is ridiculous."
"No it isn't," Ginger tutted. "I'm just trying to help a friend, that's all. Don't you want to hear my theory?"
"Go ahead," Mary Ann muttered. "I'm sure it will be preposterous."
"And I'm sure you will thank me for it," Ginger winked.
The movie star lifted the pad and consulted her list. "Gilligan's good points far outweigh his bad points, but how often do you praise him for his good points? How often do you tell him he's kind, and thoughtful, and sweet and considerate?"
Mary Ann bit her lip. "Not very often."
"But you used to."
Mary Ann looked down the length of her body at her feet. "I did. I used to tell him he was wonderful all the time."
Ginger waited for Mary Ann to say more, but she didn't, so the movie star prompted her.
"And when did you stop?"
"I guess when we'd been here for a while and his clumsiness began to annoy me instead."
"Could it have anything to do with Mrs. Howell's failed attempt at matchmaking?"
Mary Ann looked up sadly. "That didn't fail because of Mrs. Howell. It failed because Gilligan wasn't interested."
Ginger put the pencil to her lips and smiled. "Gilligan doesn't work well under pressure," she said.
"He wasn't under pressure, it was just he and I in that room for a while."
"With Mrs. Howell at the window, listening to every word."
Mary Ann sighed. "We agreed to be friends. Nothing more."
"Gilligan didn't realise what he was there for. It all happened too fast for him."
"It happened too fast for me too, Ginger. Mrs. Howell was obsessed with the idea of marrying me off."
"Either way, it was embarrassing for both of you."
"Yes," Mary Ann nodded "It was."
"And so, to limit the damage already done, you agreed to be friends."
"Yes."
A few moments passed in silence. Ginger twirled the pencil between her fingers, like a magician attempting some sleight of hand trick.
"My feeling is that Gilligan knew he'd goofed. That he had one chance and one chance only, and he messed it up. And ever since then, he's been falling into the patterns of behaviour that you see now. Acting up to get your attention, but in a safe way. A mothering way. Because the other way is too frightening for him, and because he messed it up."
"Maybe I have taken on that role over time," Mary Ann admitted.
"Think about it," said Ginger. "Gilligan is naughty and what do you do? You reassure him, you smile at him, you even indulge him. He laps up the attention and he goes away happy. Until the next time he needs your attention, and does the same thing over again."
"And again," said Mary Ann, ruefully.
"And again," Ginger nodded.
"My nerves are frayed," Mary Ann said, bleakly. "He drives me crazy, but I can't bear to get angry with him. He's the same Gilligan, but he's different now. I wish we could go back to the way things were. It's like he purposely seeks me out to make my life difficult."
"These days it's the only way that you pay attention to him," Ginger repeated. "That's all he wants, Mary Ann. Your attention. Why, he could be an actor, the way he plays to the gallery."
"But he could have had my attention in the first place! Why does he have to do it this way? He's not a five year old, Ginger- he's a grown man in his twenties!"
"And you're not a forty year old, Mary Ann. You're a young girl in your twenties."
Mary Ann fell back against the lounger. "Things have got to change," she said, firmly. "I don't want to become Gilligan's mother and I don't want him behaving like my son. I'm too young to have grown up children!"
"Then you're going to have to stop letting him get away with it," Ginger advised, gently.
"I don't want to hurt him."
"You won't hurt him. You might bruise his feelings, but you won't hurt him. It's the only way to break the cycle, Mary Ann."
Mary Ann drew her knees up and put her arms around them. "I just want my old friend Gilligan back," she said, plaintively. "He shouldn't have to break things for me to notice him. I never stopped noticing him."
"Then it's time you got to work," said Ginger. "Just remember that for Gilligan, any attention is better than no attention. But for you and your sanity, it has to be the right attention."
Mary Ann got up from the lounger and smoothed down her dress. "How much do I owe you for your pearls of wisdom, Dr. Grant?" she asked, good naturedly.
"You can pay me back in kind," Ginger laughed, removing her oversized plastic spectacles and releasing her hair from its confines. "Mrs. Howell tried to marry me off too, and now the poor old Professor would rather stick his nose in a book than gaze longingly into my eyes. I mean, look at me, Mary Ann. I'm ravishing! The man must be stone cold crazy!"
oOo
The very next morning, just as Mary Ann was getting ready to sweep the Supply hut, the door banged open and Gilligan appeared on the threshold. Before he even had the chance to put one battered sneaker past the door, Mary Ann raised her voice and said, in the firmest, most assertive tone she could muster-
"Out."
Gilligan blinked. "But, Mary Ann!" he began.
"Out," she repeated, her voice neither rising nor falling, remaining steady.
Gilligan waved his arms. "But-"
"Out."
Gilligan tried one last time to slink through the doorway.
"No one comes in here while I'm cleaning," said Mary Ann, barring his entrance with the broom handle. "Out."
Gilligan pursed his lips belligerently, but to Mary Ann's surprise, he turned around and left the hut without another word of complaint.
At first she felt bad, but soon she found herself smiling. That wasn't so hard, she thought to herself. And isn't the peace and quiet wonderful!
Later that morning, Gilligan came to ask for something to drink. As Mary Ann handed him the pitcher, he tipped it towards her and accidentally soaked her with lemonade. He tried to make it into a big deal but instead of telling him it was all right, she calmly told him he would be doing all of the laundry that day. He thought she was joking until she came to him with a big bag full of dirty clothes and a box of detergent, and then she watched him stomp off towards the lagoon to wash all the clothes by himself. Although she still felt a bit guilty for punishing him this way, she couldn't help grinning at another small victory.
At lunch time, Gilligan dropped a tray of utensils in the sand. Mary Ann made him wash them all.
In the afternoon, Gilligan paid a visit to the girls' hut and knocked the vanity over. Makeup, jewellery and bottles of perfume scattered all over the floor. Mary Ann made him pick everything up and put it back exactly where he'd found it.
In the evening, there was no sign of him while Mary Ann prepared the supper dishes.
At supper, he was as quiet as a mouse, and after supper he disappeared off to the boys' hut to read his comic books.
For the next few days he kept out of her way, allowing her to clean and wash and cook and sew and generally go about her business without interruption. She missed him, but the breathing space was very welcome. She didn't have to worry about tripping over him every time she turned around, but she was aware of the empty space that he otherwise would have occupied. It was a strange feeling, and there were a few times when she wondered if she'd gone too far and lost him completely. But she knew she had to remain strong if she wanted to break the patterns of behaviour that turned each day into an obstacle course.
A whole week went by, until one cloudy afternoon Mary Ann was sitting in her hut doing some sewing. Buttons needed replacing and the Skipper had bust the seam of his pants yet again, and so finally Mary Ann took the opportunity presented by a gloomy day to catch up with some of the more mundane chores that she had been putting off for weeks.
She was preparing to thread her needle when there was a tap at the door which startled her and made her jab her thumb.
"'oo id it?" she mumbled, putting her thumb in her mouth.
The door opened a smidgen and a small voice said, "id me, Gilligan."
Mary Ann's heart did a backflip. She put down her repairs, checked her thumb to make sure it wasn't bleeding profusely and approached the door, patting her hair into place as she went. She peered out almost as tentatively as Gilligan was peering in, and when she saw how he was presenting himself, she broke out into a shy, embarrassed smile.
Gilligan had removed his hat and combed his dark hair neatly, with not a single strand out of place. His collar was buttoned up and his shirt was tucked into his belted jeans. His shoelaces were tied. He looked as neat and as handsome as he had done on the fateful day that Mrs. Howell had invited the two of them for dinner. Of course, the memory of that day brought a plethora of mixed feelings rising to the surface, but Mary Ann pushed them down again, down, down into the Pandora's Box inside her heart from whence they had escaped.
"Hi," she said, bashfully.
"Hi," he murmured, equally as bashfully. "It's okay, I won't come in."
"Don't be silly," she smiled. "You're here on a visit. Of course you must come in."
She held the door open and Gilligan stepped into the hut as carefully as if he were walking on eggshells. Which, Mary Ann realized, he was. Even though Gilligan had been in and out of the girls' hut a million times over the years, he had no idea how she was going to react to him being there this time.
Gilligan stood just a couple of feet inside the doorway, not daring to venture any further. He was holding his arms behind his back and Mary Ann wondered what he was hiding. Finally, he whipped one arm out and presented her with a single flower, a huge, fat hybrid of a flower that looked like a cross between a rose and a hibiscus, and just as colourful and as fragrant as each.
Mary Ann gasped in delight, clasping her hands under her chin.
Gilligan's hand was shaking quite violently as he clutched the flower. "Mary Ann, quick, please take it before all the petals fall off," he squeaked as one petal did just that, working its way loose and spiralling delicately to the floor.
Mary Ann giggled and extricated the stem of the flower from Gilligan's death grip. She lifted it to her nose and breathed deeply.
"It's beautiful, Gilligan," she sighed. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome," he replied, stiffly.
Mary Ann inhaled the sweet scent of the flower and then fluttered her eyelashes at him over the top of it.
"Gilligan, you can relax. I'm not going to bite you."
"I don't want to cause any trouble," he said, wringing his hands together.
"I know you don't. And you're not."
"But I always do," he went on. "I'm a jinx, and a nuisance, and a pain in the butt, and a hazard to shipping, and a walking disaster. I'm dumb, and stupid, and a klutz and a goofball and a clown and a putz and a million other words I can't remember, which are all bad. I'm sorry, Mary Ann, I'm so sorry for always breaking things and getting in your way and being such a dumb, stupid idiot!"
"Are you finished?" said Mary Ann, lightly. "Because I'd quite like to put this gorgeous flower into some water before it starts to die."
"I guess I'm finished," he replied, scratching his head at the lack of reaction to his self-effacing outburst.
Mary Ann selected a pretty, long necked vase and poured some water into it from a jug on the dresser. She put the flower into the neck of the vase and fluffed its petals to make it look its best. All the while she had to hold her breath to keep her heart from bursting with joy.
"There," she said. "How's that?"
"Beautiful," said Gilligan, staring at the flower in admiration.
"It really brightens up the hut, doesn't it?"
"It sure does," he nodded. "Just like you do, Mary Ann."
Mary Ann stared at him just as he clamped his hand over his mouth. The silence of a thousand words unspoken hung between them like the sword of Damocles.
"Sorry," he mumbled through his fingers.
Mary Ann put her hand on his arm as gently as if he were made of spun sugar. "Sorry for what?" she breathed, trying to contain her happiness. "That was a wonderful compliment, Gilligan!"
"It was?" Gilligan's neck began to flush a deep red.
"It was," she nodded. "It was a beautiful compliment, as beautiful as your flower." And as beautiful as you, she added mentally, knowing that if she said it out loud she would scare him away.
Gilligan took his hand away from his mouth and flashed a slightly panicked grin. "I just wanted to bring you something," he said. "Something besides a whole heap of trouble."
"And you did," she smiled back. "So stop worrying about it."
Gilligan wiped his hands on the front of his shirt and looked around the hut, as though the words he wanted to say were hiding in the corners. "Well, I guess I'll be going then," he said, finally.
"Going where?" said Mary Ann.
"Um, back to my hut?"
"But Gilligan, you only just got here. And besides, you're all dressed up. You'd be wasted on the Skipper."
Gilligan peered at her, trying to work out whether she was joking, and decided that she was.
"Well, I guess I did come here to ask you if you'd-" he broke off, nervously.
"Yes, Gilligan?"
"If you'd- if you'd- if you'd-"
Mary Ann reached up and tapped his cheek. "Needle's stuck," she grinned.
"If you'd maybe like to take a walk with me, or something? I mean, you don't have to, if you're busy." It came out in a rush, like sap spurting out of a tree.
Mary Ann clapped her hands in delight. "I'd love to go for a walk with you, or something, Gilligan. We haven't been for a walk in such a long time. It'll be just like the old days!"
Gilligan twisted his lips wryly. "We never actually went on that many walks even in the old days, Mary Ann."
"Well, more's the pity," said Mary Ann. "It's a beautiful island, and we should take more walks instead of hanging around the huts getting on each other's nerves all day."
"That would be nice," Gilligan admitted. "I sure do hate hanging around the huts all day."
"Don't we all," said Mary Ann. Then, seizing her chance, she stepped forward and linked her arm through his. "I hate sewing. Someone else can fix the Skipper's pants. Come on, Gilligan- let's split this joint."
Gilligan brightened immediately. His blue eyes sparkled as he gazed down at Mary Ann, who looked just as happy as he did.
"It's cloudy," he said. "It might rain."
"Well then, we'll just have to find somewhere to shelter, won't we?"
Gilligan grinned widely. "I know a place. Several places, in fact. I always go there when it rains."
"Then lead on, Macduff," said Mary Ann, practically pulling him through the door and into the clearing.
"Macduff? Who the heck is Macduff?" asked Gilligan, allowing the happy farm girl to propel him in the direction of the nearest jungle path.
"Who cares?" laughed Mary Ann. "Come on, Gilligan- race you to the butterfly grounds!"
And off they went, Mary Ann and Gilligan. Off into the depths of their island paradise without a care, just like the old days.