Christopher DARES to condescend to the woman who raised his OTHER child BY HERSELF by telling Lorelai that three-year-olds can be a lot to handle if you're not used to them. Lorelai's jaw drops, but why she doesn't drop-kick Christopher in the NUTS, is something I cannot fathom. She tells him that Gigi's behavior was not typical three-year-old stuff, and that Gigi was more like a feral hyena. "So," Chris shrugs again," you guys didn't click." Lorelai has to look at him sideways, not believing that he doesn't get it. She says it's not about clicking; it's about Gigi being spoiled and never having heard the word "no" in her life. Chris gets pissed, but Lorelai stands her ground. "I'm not saying it's her fault," Lorelai says. "I'm just saying you could apply a little more discipline." Chris snarks that Gigi's a kid, and that kids are hard. Finally, Lorelai has had enough: "Yeeeeah," she says, neck snapping. "I KNOW kids. I raised one, okay?" I wish so bad she had said she raised one of his. Chris is pissed about the whole discussion, and says he and Gigi are going. He heads down the hall, and Lorelai tries to reason with him further, saying that it isn't just her -- the preschool interviews and the nannies quitting should be more hints that Gigi is awful. Chris makes excuses, getting angrier. "Giving Gigi whatever she wants," Lorelai says, as he carries the crazy kid out, "isn't going to make up for Sherry being a crappy mom and bailing." Chris smarts back that he's had enough of Lorelai's advice and her help, and walks out. Lorelai looks dejected, and even though she has committed the cardinal sin of giving someone advice about his child -- which one should never do, ever, on pain of death -- I have to side with her on this. I cannot stand Christopher, and I can't understand why they keep bringing him back, other than to show us what Rory will be in for if she continues dating Logan.
As a matter of fact, that reality is coming to light right now as Rory sauces it up at the bar to medicate against the Logan breakup. She boozily tells the barkeep to hit her again, though he does remind her that she's on her third one. "What are you, my mother?" she says, demanding another drink and saying that, anyway, she's not driving; she points around, wildly, saying she lives right over...there. A waitress tries to take her bar naps, and Rory gets possessive, saying they are her napkins: "These came with my drinks." Weirdly, I like Drunk Rory. "I'm sick of people touching my stuff," she says, à la Napoleon Dynamite. Rory's joined at the bar by the equally drunk Doyle. Paris has kicked him out, he says. He's been there a while, he says, mixing beer and wine. And Malibu rum. "That sounds bad," Rory says. "Yep," Doyle nods, "it is bad. It's been a long, bad night." Rory sarcastically says that her evening has been really excellent, and they toast to really excellent evenings. He describes his fight with Paris, saying she has been miserable and sitting at her craft table, hot-gluing bead after bead. Rory is alarmed and says it all sucks: "Love sucks." She tells him she has to move out of her place, too: "Logan had many, many blondes for Thanksgiving." "It's terrible when you love them," Doyle commiserates, sweetly. "I wonder how long 'til Logan sleeps with somebody else," Rory slurs. "Bet he already has." She drains her drink as the bartender comes over, but when they make the camera cut, the glass isn't empty. Oops. She tries to order another, but realizes she has no money left after taking a cab back from the wedding. Doyle says he has some in his pants. "I'll hold still while you look," he tells her, which...hee. Good one, Doyle. Clearly not catching on to his clumsy advances, Rory tells him to come on; she'll help him outside.