Episode Report Card Al Lowe: A | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Up A Creek
By Al Lowe | Season 7 | Episode 15 | Aired on 02.19.2007
Over at Luke's, Miss Patty and Babette discuss the current word on the street about Lorelai and Christopher. So as not to arouse suspicion in Luke, they're using code names. "So did the Hen [Lorelai] break up with the Beagle [Chris]," Babette asks, "or did the Beagle break up with the Hen?" Babette says that's unclear. They're sad for the poor Hen, who has been through too much. Anyway, Babette says, good riddance to the Beagle, who belongs with other Beagles. "Yeah," Miss Patty agrees, "and the Hen belongs with...the Rooster [Luke]." Apparently, Luke already knows all this news, as the infamous Eastside Tillie was in yesterday, blabbing about it. Babette, however, can't get a bead on his feelings about the matter: "You know the Rooster. It's like lookin' at Stonehenge! I don't know what he thinks." Miss Patty says she hopes that the Rooster gets his act together, because she thinks he and the Hen belong together. Babette agrees, although she thinks maybe the Hen would be good with someone else: "Like...a penguin or an ostrich, maybe!" Kirk, eavesdropping from a neighboring table, can no longer keep silent: "Are you insinuating that a hen could mate with an ostrich?"
As Kirk rants on, Liz and T.J. arrive with Doula. "She's lookin' good, huh?" says T.J. as Luke smiles over her. "Sturdy, too, like maybe she'll be a female wrestler." Luke: "Oh, fingers crossed, huh?" Good one -- Luke finally gets a funny line. Bad news: T.J., Liz, and the baby are there to stay while their place is getting fumigated. Where old Luke would have stroked out at this development -- two adults and a baby staying in his one-room apartment? -- new, sensitive-dad Luke is resigned and tells them to make themselves at home. Whatever. Bring back curmudgeonly Luke if we're going to have to deal with T.J.
Elsewhere, Richard is bitching, yet again, about his food. The chef has served up some nice miso, but this is not acceptable. "Soup," he complains, "is not a meal. Nor is a salad." God, what is it with men and the whole "proper meal" business? Seriously, my husband and I had a throwdown just last week on a rare night when neither of us felt like cooking about how a peanut butter sandwich is not a "real meal." My argument was that sometimes, though, isn't it enough? No, my husband insisted, peanut butter is what a ten-year-old eats after school. I guess it would ruin my image to tell you what I suggested he eat instead, then. The doorbell rings, and as all the slaves are hiding, Emily screeches for someone to open it while Richard is unspeakably bitchy to the chef. Pandemonium naturally ensues, and finally Emily rages to the door herself. The idea! Answering your own door! It's Lorelai with the meds. She asks how her dad is doing, and as Emily puts on a brave face, saying that he's fine, they hear Richard yelling, Emily-style, at the chef, who quits on the spot: "I have worked in so many four-star restaurants, I could have my own constellation!" With that, he rips off his apron and storms out in a huff. Richard follows suit, going off to watch golf while Emily nervously asks about some business arrangements he has yet to handle. He also has yet to eat anything, upsetting Emily even more. Lorelai suggests that she, Emily Gilmore, make Richard something. Emily gives her a look which says it all, and Lorelai makes an immediate retraction, suggesting instead that the maid make him something. Emily huffs that Aurora is hiding, and Emily and Lorelai both sigh and begin creeping around the house, calling her name like a game of blueblood hide-and-seek. Emily is in a state. Richard's being an asshole, the nurse is a witch, Aurora is hiding, and the accountant keeps calling: "Everything is falling apart! Everything is chaotic." Lorelai calms her down, makes her a mocktail, and says that she'll handle all the house stuff and get Richard fed. Emily pauses her histrionics for just a moment before charging off again to call the accountant's office.