Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except possibly the nail brush.
"Grit," Frank announced with a great flourish, "Is for heathens. Poor, unclean communists who despise everything good, holy, and American. That, you nosy perverts, is why I'm using a nail brush."
Hawkeye and BJ looked at each other with poorly-concealed amusement as their superior-in-rank-only roommate vigorously scrubbed underneath his fingernails with a white, soapy brush.
"You'll have to forgive us, Frank. We've grown to love the grit under our nails. It reminds us of the fact that no matter how deep we dig, we'll never reach the United States." BJ said.
"But really, Frank... where'd you get the nail brush? I didn't think you and Major Houlihan were on speaking terms, much less borrowing each other's personal grooming item terms." Hawkeye asked.
"Not to say that she hasn't been pining after your set of rollers..."
"I'll have you know, *Captains*, that a nail brush like this is a necessity for any well-groomed officer. Like I said before, grit is for the unsavory and unscrupulous."
"Which one do you think I am, Beej? Unsavory or unscrupulous?" Hawkeye asked.
"I got dibs on unsavory."
"No fair, you always get the good one!"
Frank was getting agitated, and he exhaled with irritation. "Military conduct requires that officers be well-groomed at all times!"
"Gosh, if I'd known that, I'd never have given all my perfumed soap to the Marines." Hawkeye exclaimed.
"So you think there's something funny about a man using a nail brush?!" Frank demanded.
"Frank, this is a war. Grit lets you know you're alive, and it reminds you that the dirt under your nails is just a fraction of the mess that we're making." Hawkeye explained.
"Oh Cockypop. I was even going to offer to let you borrow this, but now I think I've changed my mind!" Frank cried.
"Thanks but no thanks, Frank. I'd rather have a pink one with littlle flowers etched into it."
"Oh ha ha! Just because I'm taking time out to properly groom myself, that doesn't make me a sissy." Frank sputtered. Behind him, there was a knock on the door.
"You're absolutely right, Frank." BJ agreed. "Come on in."
The door flung open, and in marched Klinger, dressed in a pale pink chiffon tutu, complete with lace-up ballet slippers that contrasted oddly against his hairy legs. He stopped in front of Frank, who looked at him in disgust.
"Do you know that you're in officers' quarters?!" He exclaimed, dipping his fingers into a basin of water.
"And you're just the officer I'm here to see, Major."
"You're sick!! Look at the way you're dressed!"
Klinger raised one eyebrow, and held his arms out innocently. "I admit, the tailoring is a little bit sharp in the bodice..."
"Get out of here, you pervert!"
"Not until I get my nail brush back! I've got to get to Rosie's in an hour and I can't go out without doing my nails first. I'm sure you understand, Major."
Frank looked at him in shock and he jumped to his feet. "How.. how dare you accuse me of borrowing from the likes of you?! This nail brush is mine, fair and square!"
Klinger grabbed it out of his hand and examined it. "Hey! This was in perfect condition when I loaned it to you! The bristles are all bent out of shape. I'm never loaning anything to you again!"
He turned to leave, and Frank looked around frantically. "Come back here, you! This is defamation of character! Klinger, get back here!"
Klinger stopped and regarded him, with his hands on his hips.
Frank bit his lip, and then very quietly, he muttered, "Can I keep it another five minutes?"
Klinger looked at it, then sighed. "Five minutes? It'll take at least 20 minutes for the nail polish to dry, you know."
"Klinger, PLEASE! Be a man about it!"
"I resent that, Major." Klinger said in a warning tone, and reluctantly returned the brush. "Five minutes."
Frank exhaled with relief, and then he noticed Hawkeye and BJ, breaking down into hysterical laughter.
"Oh shut up! It's like I said.... grit is for heathens."
Fin
"Grit," Frank announced with a great flourish, "Is for heathens. Poor, unclean communists who despise everything good, holy, and American. That, you nosy perverts, is why I'm using a nail brush."
Hawkeye and BJ looked at each other with poorly-concealed amusement as their superior-in-rank-only roommate vigorously scrubbed underneath his fingernails with a white, soapy brush.
"You'll have to forgive us, Frank. We've grown to love the grit under our nails. It reminds us of the fact that no matter how deep we dig, we'll never reach the United States." BJ said.
"But really, Frank... where'd you get the nail brush? I didn't think you and Major Houlihan were on speaking terms, much less borrowing each other's personal grooming item terms." Hawkeye asked.
"Not to say that she hasn't been pining after your set of rollers..."
"I'll have you know, *Captains*, that a nail brush like this is a necessity for any well-groomed officer. Like I said before, grit is for the unsavory and unscrupulous."
"Which one do you think I am, Beej? Unsavory or unscrupulous?" Hawkeye asked.
"I got dibs on unsavory."
"No fair, you always get the good one!"
Frank was getting agitated, and he exhaled with irritation. "Military conduct requires that officers be well-groomed at all times!"
"Gosh, if I'd known that, I'd never have given all my perfumed soap to the Marines." Hawkeye exclaimed.
"So you think there's something funny about a man using a nail brush?!" Frank demanded.
"Frank, this is a war. Grit lets you know you're alive, and it reminds you that the dirt under your nails is just a fraction of the mess that we're making." Hawkeye explained.
"Oh Cockypop. I was even going to offer to let you borrow this, but now I think I've changed my mind!" Frank cried.
"Thanks but no thanks, Frank. I'd rather have a pink one with littlle flowers etched into it."
"Oh ha ha! Just because I'm taking time out to properly groom myself, that doesn't make me a sissy." Frank sputtered. Behind him, there was a knock on the door.
"You're absolutely right, Frank." BJ agreed. "Come on in."
The door flung open, and in marched Klinger, dressed in a pale pink chiffon tutu, complete with lace-up ballet slippers that contrasted oddly against his hairy legs. He stopped in front of Frank, who looked at him in disgust.
"Do you know that you're in officers' quarters?!" He exclaimed, dipping his fingers into a basin of water.
"And you're just the officer I'm here to see, Major."
"You're sick!! Look at the way you're dressed!"
Klinger raised one eyebrow, and held his arms out innocently. "I admit, the tailoring is a little bit sharp in the bodice..."
"Get out of here, you pervert!"
"Not until I get my nail brush back! I've got to get to Rosie's in an hour and I can't go out without doing my nails first. I'm sure you understand, Major."
Frank looked at him in shock and he jumped to his feet. "How.. how dare you accuse me of borrowing from the likes of you?! This nail brush is mine, fair and square!"
Klinger grabbed it out of his hand and examined it. "Hey! This was in perfect condition when I loaned it to you! The bristles are all bent out of shape. I'm never loaning anything to you again!"
He turned to leave, and Frank looked around frantically. "Come back here, you! This is defamation of character! Klinger, get back here!"
Klinger stopped and regarded him, with his hands on his hips.
Frank bit his lip, and then very quietly, he muttered, "Can I keep it another five minutes?"
Klinger looked at it, then sighed. "Five minutes? It'll take at least 20 minutes for the nail polish to dry, you know."
"Klinger, PLEASE! Be a man about it!"
"I resent that, Major." Klinger said in a warning tone, and reluctantly returned the brush. "Five minutes."
Frank exhaled with relief, and then he noticed Hawkeye and BJ, breaking down into hysterical laughter.
"Oh shut up! It's like I said.... grit is for heathens."
Fin