As he ate dinner, Mr. Howell couldn't help thinking that one aspect of this whole mad scheme that no one apparently had considered was that they were sending away their best cook for who knew how long. Yes, they would hopefully be rescued as a result, but meanwhile, how were they going to survive without her?
Not that it wasn't a sacrifice to give up Gilligan as caddy, errand-boy, and so on, but Thurston Howell III was used to sacrifices since the Skipper landed them on this uncharted desert island. These were sacrifices that Thurston Howell I and II had never had to make. He was proud of himself, and of Lovey, that they were made of such stern stuff. But asking them to eat Ginger's cooking or, perish the thought, the Skipper's, that was a bit much.
Still, this plan was moving forward, mad or not. Judging from the besotted if shy glances the engaged couple were exchanging, they were perfectly happy to get married. Thurston had been afraid that they were just being their usual pliable selves, going along with what the Professor and Lovey wanted, but it seemed that this was what they wanted as well. Of course, they probably never would've gotten together if it had been left to them. If a woman like Ginger couldn't get anywhere with the Professor, then an un-nudged Gilligan and Mary Ann probably would've spent a lifetime never doing more than exchanging glances.
The Skipper stood up with his coconut shell in one hand. "I'd like to propose a toast to the happy couple."
The Professor cleared his throat. "Uh, isn't that my role as best man?"
"No offense, Professor, but you're only best man because I'm performing the ceremony."
Gilligan coughed. "Uh, Skipper, speaking of ceremonies, I was wondering if we could hold it tonight."
"Well, the lad is eager," Mr. Howell observed.
"Gilligan, this haste is most unseemly!" Lovey snapped.
"We haven't even had a chance to pack her trousseau," Ginger protested.
"A trousseau? They're not lugging a trousseau along in the canoe!" the Skipper objected.
"He's right. They're going to need that space for the citrus fruits," the Professor pointed out.
"And what about the raft for all of us?" Lovey asked. All the men were puzzled, so she continued, "Well, as the Skipper pointed out, we can hardly hold the wedding in the canoe."
"Oh, I don't mean that ceremony," Gilligan said. "I mean the other ceremony." Now everyone looked at Gilligan puzzled.
"What ceremony, Gilligan?" Mary Ann asked, speaking up for the first time since she said that she hoped everyone would enjoy the baked halibut.
"Um, you know, it's a ceremony that we have to have before we get married."
Mr. Howell wondered what that strange mind had come up with, but he decided not to ask, since Gilligan now looked very self-conscious.
"You mean the bachelor party?" the Skipper asked.
"Do you want me to pop out of a cake?" Ginger offered.
"How would you fit in a cake?" Gilligan asked. "Even a wedding cake would be too small."
"Well, if you men are having a bachelor party, then I want a wedding shower," Mary Ann said.
"Oo, good idea, Mary Ann. That'll help us fill your trousseau."
"For the last time, they're not taking—"
Ginger leaned over and whispered something that made the Skipper almost blush. Thurston was curious about that, but then Lovey leaned over and whispered, "Thurston, as the only married man, and the arbiter of good taste, I think you should go to this bachelor party and make sure it doesn't get out of hand."
"Uh, well, if you like." He wondered how much of a bachelor party they could manage on the island. There wasn't even a bar! And no stag film had ever washed ashore.
Then to his surprise, the Professor said, "I've concocted a still, so I can provide the alcohol."
"You want me to get drunk?" Gilligan squeaked. Thurston thought the boy should consider himself lucky. Back in civilization, he'd be in for a much wilder night. Or maybe that made him unlucky.
"Come along, Girls, we'll have the shower in my hut." And Lovey led Ginger and Mary Ann away.
"Gentlemen, let's adjourn to my hut," the Professor said.
Within an hour, the men were all tipsy on the Professor's moonshine. Thurston hoped his friends in the Bridgeport Country Club never heard about this.
"You've been holding out on us, Professor," the Skipper said.
"Well, I thought this might have medicinal value."
"I'm feeling a tad under the weather. Pour me another shot," Mr. Howell said.
"Are we having an earthquake or am I drunk?" Gilligan asked.
"You're drunk, Little Buddy."
"Oh, good."
"I can't believe it. My little buddy is getting married!"
"I can't believe it either," Gilligan said.
"Well, that makes three of us," Thurston said.
"Four," said the Professor.
"So when am I getting married?"
"Well, I've made a list of supplies—" the Skipper began.
"And I've made a list of provisions," said the Professor. "We should probably compare lists and then gather everything together that they'll need."
"Don't forget the bedroll," Gilligan said.
The Professor quirked an eyebrow. "Bedroll?"
"Yeah, the Skipper said that would be easier to fit on the canoe than a bed. And we only need one since we're getting married."
Mr. Howell wondered just how much the Skipper had prepared Gilligan for that side of marriage. He also wondered if he should have a talk with the young man himself. The Professor, despite his scientific knowledge, would be no help, as he probably lacked actual experience.
The Professor got out a list and a pen. "One bedroll."
The Skipper observed, "I would say you could set sail on the seas of matrimony, and the actual sea, in the morning, but it looks like we might all be hungover tomorrow."
"We could hold the wedding in the evening," the Professor said. "That will give us time to load the canoe."
"I'll clear my social calendar," Mr. Howell said.
"But what about Mary Ann's—" Gilligan began. Presumably, he was going to ask about the trousseau, if he even knew what that was. He broke off because Ginger had just come in, wearing a slinky dress and a feather boa. The bachelor party had just gotten a lot more interesting.