Rory is trying to plan the world's greatest baby shower when, surprise, an editor from The New York Times calls to ask her to coffee. Lorelai volunteers to wrap up the party plans, and Rory goes to the city to prepare for her meeting the next day. She spends the night at Logan's and is awakened by him at an ungodly hour when he staggers in drunk, in Old Fashioned Logan-style. Everyone in town is excited about the shower, except Mrs. Kim and Luke, truly two curmudgeonly twin-souls. MamaKim and Lane are in a fight about how Lane plans to raise her children, especially as it pertains to fried shrimp and Jesus, and Luke is avoiding the Lorelai-hosted event. Speaking of Luke, he's got to find a new place to store his boat, because Liz and T.J. want it out of their garage. It sparks him to make a decision to get out of the rut he's been in, and buy a new boat. While Lorelai is patching things up between Lane and Mrs. Kim, Lane has a contraction and has to go on bedrest. Finally, Logan breaks it to Rory about his business going bust. He also regresses fully and runs off on a trip to Vegas with the loathsome Colin and Finn. Rory is pissed about it all, but rushes back to Stars Hollow in time for Lane's AWESOME baby shower, complete with Sebastian Bach singing "Hush Little Baby."
Lorelai and Rory emerge from Stars Hollow's baby store, bags in hand. They are making final preparations for the baby shower they're throwing for Lane, and Rory is concerned that they have not bought enough onesies for their onesie painting station. May I say how awesome an idea that is? Painting onesies? I have only ever hosted one baby shower, but if I ever have another one, I'm stealing that. It had never occurred to me. I'm turning in my Martha badge, in shame, right now. Anyway, forty people have RSVPed to the party, and Lorelai says that they've bought sixty onesies, so they should be set. Leaving aside for a moment that purchasing sixty onesies from a small-town boutique baby store would have broken a fairly large budget, Rory says she's worried about "the first pancake phenomenon." When Lorelai looks confused, Rory explains:one always throws out their first pancake, she says, because it is used to test the heat of the griddle and usually gets burned. What if, following this logic, someone has a onesie disaster and wants to start over, but is not able to because of the lack of extra onesies? "Oh, my God," Lorelai says, blown away by the pancake talk. "No excuses: next year, we are making you that audition tape for Top Chef." Rory assures Lorelai that this is pretty basic knowledge, but Lorelai wonders if it also applies to, say, hamburgers and waffles. "No," Rory explains, "it's pancake-specific!" Lorelai says that's good news, then, because you can slap anything on a onesie, and it looks cute. They can't be messed up! "Alligator, fried egg, tools," Lorelai lists. "These are not generally considered cute items..." Rory agrees -- painted on a onesie, even a Phillips-head screwdriver is cute. And, frankly you can't argue with that, can you? Think of a household item, when placed on a onesie, that would not improve on the cuteness scale by at least 50%. Go ahead. Teapot? Block of cheese? Coat hanger? (Well, maybe not coat hangers, Joan. God.) Rory's mostly worried about all this because she wants to make sure Lane's party is a big success, especially after the bachelorette party she hosted for Lane that ended up in Brian's aunt's basement. "Well..." Lorelai points out, "it was your first pancake."
Rory and Lorelai are interrupted by Rory's ringing phone. They must both use all their self-control not to flip out when Rory mouths to her mother that it is The New York Times calling. "If I was The New York Times," Lorelai says, when Rory hangs up, "I would be like, 'Get me Rory Gilmore on the phone, STAT!'" In fact, the guy who called Rory is a friend of the snobby dude she met at Logan's work party, and he has agreed to get together with her to counsel her on smart moves to make after graduation. Rory is flipping out that the guy called her and relays the entire conversation, word for word, to Lorelai. "Oh my gosh," Lorelai jokes, "if this is any indication of the crackling, spitfire dialogue to come at your coffee tomorrow...!" Rory worries that this is the worst possible time for her to be going to the city for such a meeting, but adds that she knows she can get back for Lane's party and feels like she has to take this meeting. She has to go, Lorelai agrees: "I mean, let's face it, the Top Chef thing was a long shot; this is The New York Times!" Lorelai says she'll handle the last-minute things for the baby shower. Rory wigs further, spreadsheeting the whole thing out loud -- she'll spend the night in the city at Logan's, she says, so that she can prepare and be ready to ask some intelligent questions. "Honey," Lorelai assures her, "you've been asking intelligent questions since you were three." Rory says that the Times guy is probably expecting something a little more sophisticated. More sophisticated, Lorelai asks, "than 'What is a color?' Because that one blew my mind." So cute -- my very good friend has a three-year-old who is sort of an insane, mad scientist mega-genius, and he recently caused a teacher breakdown at his preschool by furiously demanding that all posters of the solar system be removed, being no longer accurate based on the recent Pluto decision. He went on to pronounce that the astronomical community would one day regret their ruling on Pluto, but that there was nothing he could do about it yet. We are all a tad frightened of this child, especially when he lectures us on the correct "pwonunciations" of the phases of the moon. One day he will rule us all. And before that day comes, you need to learn what a Gibbous moon is and how to say it, or he will sigh loudly and verbally dismiss you as he did the poor volunteer at the children's museum.