You know, I'm at a loss. I can't even criticize their clothes. I barely know what to say if I can't even find a piece of clothing to chomp to pieces. The women on this show aren't even obscenely skinny. They actually look healthy. Thin, but healthy.
After the commercial break, Rory -- looking quaint and disheveled at the same time in her kilt -- wanders into the Antique store. She calls out to Lane, who is somewhere amidst the chairs, desks and earthenware not remotely organized within the store itself. Right or left? Left. Leaving Rory to stumble through a couple of alleys between various bits of furniture. No luck. "I thought you said left!" Oops. That was Lane's left! The search continues. And continues. And continues some more. Marco. Polo. Marco. Polo. Until Lane is found. She's eating a rice cake: twelve calories. Rory gives up a yummy American chocolate bar. Lane "loves her." While Rory busts out her fourteen-inch binder crammed with study notes, she quips: "I don't even think Shakespeare knew himself this well." A customer covets their study table. Lane's mother descends and asks for $500.00. The two barter down to $375.00. The girls are dismissed with a curt "move." Rory pontificates about how she misses Stars Hollow; Lane assumes she must be kidding. When the girls attempt to land on yet another piece of furniture, Lane's mom swoops in exclaiming, "Nope. That's sold." She notices the chocolate bar in her daughter's hand and says, "That is chocolate-covered death." Heh. Lane's mom must have grown up with my own mother, who never let my brother and me eat chocolate. Or sugar. And allowed us a measly one hour of television per day. I suppose that explains my current addiction to all three substances. Lane informs Rory that the "tall, perfect new kid" asked about her today. On top of everything else, he's into "brainy chicks," because after Lane told him Rory was going to Chilton he didn't run away screaming. The two young women are shoved right out of the store by Lane's mom, who sends them packing once again: "I hate sales!" Lane exclaims. Heh.
Independence Inn. Drella is plunking away at her harp. I suppose you don't necessarily "plunk" a harp but I don't know the technical term so I'm just going with my original sentence: Drella is plunking Black Sabbath on her harp. Insert a ragdoll giggle here -- not even an eye roll or a head smack, but an honest-to-goodness giggle. Lorelai hears the familiar strains of Black Sabbath and rules them out of Drella's playlist, along with Boston, Queen, and Steely Dan. The Independence Inn is all Mozart, all the time. Lorelai makes her way into the kitchen to feed her coffee addiction. Sookie is sitting at her desk with her head in her hands, looking incredibly glum: "Over there," she says weakly and Lorelai moves toward the coffee machine: "Fresh in my first lifetime as Joan of Arc?" Lorelai asks, as she holds up the drudge left over at the bottom of the pot. Sookie sighs that she thought she made fresh. Continuing at her usual level of self-absorption, Lorelai rambles on about being exhausted, and about how she has to drive into Hartford tonight for a parent/teacher meeting. Every sentence of Lorelai's is met with a very sad "uh huh" from Sookie behalf. Finally, after about five minutes of rambling on about her life, Lorelai notices there might be something wrong with her star chef: Sookie's still upset about Lucien Mills's description of her risotto as "fine." Apparently, "fine" is a word that should be reserved for a lesser risotto. Sookie's risotto is "magic." She served it to her mother on her deathbed and she lived for another three years. You can't describe a magic risotto by using the word "fine." Fine. Somehow, Lorelai doesn't think the restaurant critic actually knew the story. The usual banter between Grocery Man and Sookie is dismissed without issue. He thinks something is wrong. Of course something is wrong, and Grocery Man is left to cheer up the disgruntled cook. Sookie's having a bad day -- looks like that's going around.