Emily: Well, let me tell you this, Shira. We are just as good as you are. You don't think Rory is good enough for your son - as if we don't know Logan's reputation. We do. But he is welcome in our home anytime, and you should extend the same courtesy to Rory. Now let's talk about your money. You were a two-bit gold digger, fresh off the bus from Hicksville, when you met Mitchum at whatever bar you happened to stumble into. And what made Mitchum decide to choose you to marry amongst the pack of women he was bedding at the time, I'll never know. But hats off to you for bagging him. He's still a playboy, you know? Well, of course you know. That would explain why your weight goes up and down 30 pounds every other month. But that's your cross to bear. But these are ugly realities. No one needs to talk about them. Those kids are staying together for as long as they like. You won't stop them. Now, enjoy the event.
Rory: Sounds like you're over thinking this. Maybe if you just put pen to paper.
Lorelai: I tried that, I thought, "I'll just sit down and write whatever comes - no judgment, no inner critic." Boy was that a bad idea.
Rory: Really? Why?
Lorelai: Because my brain is a wild jungle full of scary gibberish. "I'm writing a letter, I can't write a letter, why can't I write a letter? I'm wearing a green dress, I wish I was wearing my blue dress, my blue dress is at the cleaners. The Germans wore gray, you wore blue, 'Casablanca' is such a good movie. Casablanca, the White House, Bush. Why don't I drive a hybrid car? I should really drive a hybrid car. I should really take my bicycle to work. Bicycle, unicycle, unitard. Hockey puck, rattlesnake, monkey, monkey, underpants!"
Rory: Hockey puck, rattlesnake, monkey, monkey, underpants?
Michel: Look, I've made my peace with the fact that everyone who calls here is a notch above brain dead, and that the pennies I am thrown each week are in exchange for me dealing with these people in a nonviolent manner. And usually that is fine, but today, sorry lady, I have ennui.
Emily: Well, uh, Rory, I don't think I wore the right shoes for the grand tour. Why don't we just drive?
Rory: You can borrow some of my mom's shoes.
Emily: Oh, no, I don't think so. Rory hold on a minute.
Rory: Grandma, you will be missing the true Stars Hollow experience if you don't walk. Trust me.
Emily: All right, but I won't wear anything with rhinestones or zebra stripes or anything that has batteries or that sings or make animal noises or moves on its own.