Chapter 311: Another dinner at Elder Gilmore’s.

(What to get left in the will of Emily and Richard?)

(An argument between Lorelai and Emily. Dinah? Intercede… Fast!)

(Rory, Lorelai, and Emily are at Friday night dinner.)

EMILY: Tomorrow our lawyer, Joseph Stanford, is coming by.

LORELAI: Ugh. Crazy Sissy’s dad.

EMILY: That’s terrible. Sissy was a good friend of yours.

LORELAI: Mom, Sissy talked to her stuffed animals and they answered her.

RORY: Let’s just start a new topic.

EMILY: Not possible!

LORELAI: She said a new topic, Mom.

EMILY: Everything’s a joke. Everyone’s a punch line.

LORELAI: OK, I’m sorry.

EMILY: My daughter — Henny Youngman.

(Richard comes in late.)

RICHARD: Sorry for that. A little trouble with our China office. Well. What did I miss?

LORELAI: I was being impossible and then I turned into a Jewish comedian.

RICHARD: Ah. Well, continue.

EMILY: Thank you. Where was I?

RORY: Uh, Joseph Stanford is coming tomorrow.

EMILY: Yes. So, Rory, your grandfather and I thought it might be nice after dinner for you to go around the house and pick out what you’d like us to leave you in our wills.

RICHARD: Take a look at that desk in my office. It’s a really fine Georgian piece.

LORELAI: Why don’t I ever bring a tape recorder to these dinners?

RORY: Oh, well, anything you want to leave me is fine.

EMILY: Nonsense. You should have what you like. So look around and when you see something you like stick a post-it on it.

LORELAI: OK, you two have officially hit a new level of weird that even I marvel at.

EMILY: You can pick out things too, you know.

LORELAI: Oh, well now it’s way less creepy.

EMILY: Did you hear that Richard? Apparently we’re creepy.

RICHARD: Yes, well, live and learn.

(The maid comes in with a tray.)

RORY: Oh cool!

LORELAI: What’s that?

EMILY: It’s dessert.

LORELAI: It’s pudding.

EMILY: Well if you knew what it was why did you ask?

LORELAI: You don’t like pudding.

EMILY: Yes, but you like pudding.

LORELAI: Oh, I love pudding. I worship it. I have a bowl up on the mantel at home with the Virgin Mary, a glass of wine, and a dollar bill next to it.

RORY: I’ve never had pudding from a crystal bowl before.

EMILY You like the bowl?

RORY: Mmm.

EMILY: Put a post-it on it when you’re done.

(Lorelai and Rory are putting post-its on on things in the living room.)

LORELAI: So what do we think of this?

RORY: Where would we put it?

LORELAI: I don’t know. The Emily and Richard Gilmore Psycho Museum?

RORY: This is the strangest evening I’ve ever spent here.

EMILY: So, how’s it going?

LORELAI: Great, just getting ready for the big day.

EMILY: Very nice.

LORELAI: So, um, it’s getting late, Mom. Unless you’ve got some funeral plots for us to decorate we should really be going.

EMILY: Any special requests for dinner next week?

RORY: Oh, well —

LORELAI: Mom, I want to talk to you for a minute, and Rory, why don’t you go say goodbye to Grandpa…

RORY: Very smooth.

(Rory leaves the room.)

EMILY: Should I sit down?

LORELAI: Yeah, but not there, OK? We got a post-it on that. We’d like to keep it nice.

EMILY: It must be very exhausting to be you.

LORELAI: Mom, Rory’s birthday is next Friday.

EMILY: I know that.

LORELAI: So we were thinking that maybe we could push our dinner next week to Saturday.

EMILY: What are you going to do on Friday?

LORELAI: Oh I don’t know.

EMILY: Well perfect. You’ll come here and we’ll have a little party.

LORELAI: I was just hoping we could do it another night.

EMILY: Well why come on another night when her birthday falls on the exact night that you do come here.

LORELAI: Saturday’s a pretty good night, Mom.

EMILY: Not as good as Friday.

LORELAI: Pretty damn close.

EMILY: Not from where I’m standing.

LORELAI: Well, move then.

EMILY: I’m sorry. Friday nights are my nights. That’s what we agreed on when you borrowed money for her school. The rules haven’t changed.

LORELAI: Mom, I didn’t intend for this loan to become a constant source of blackmail, OK? Now this is my kid’s birthday and she will have her party at home on Friday and that’s it? End of story.


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