LORELAI: I melted three entire candy canes into this not-very-large cup of coffee, and still I can barely taste it.
RORY: I know.
LORELAI: It’s just the vaguest whisper of peppermint.
RORY: Peppermint.
LORELAI: I swear I could get the same effect if I put Vaporub on my chest and drank coffee at the same time.
RORY: Peppermint.
LORELAI: I mean how arbitrary is it to decide to stop serving candy-cane coffee the day after Christmas? Christmas spirit is not something that can be turned off like a faucet on December 26th.
RORY: Yeah, it stinks.
LORELAI: On the plus side, any chest congestion I had is now totally cleared up.
RORY: So that’s good.
LORELAI: Well, let’s go Christmas-shopping.
RORY: Write your letter.
LORELAI: I can’t. I need a treat.
RORY: This was your treat, coming to Weston’s was supposed to buck up your spirits and inspire your writing.
LORELAI: No, candy-cane coffee was supposed to be my treat. This coffee is no treat. Let’s face it — this is un-candy-cane-coffee coffee, and it’s totally un-bucking up my spirits. So it’s decided — let’s go shopping.
RORY: Write.
LORELAI: Rory, I can’t. Ooh. I have an idea. Excuse me. Hi. Merry Christmas.
SUE: Christmas is over.
LORELAI: Okay. Sue — pretty name. I have a hunch that there’s some of the secret candy-cane-coffee mix just sitting in the back there, and I wonder if I could make it worth your while if you and I could come to some sort of arrangement.
SUE: Like I said before we stop selling candy-cane coffee when Christmas is over.
LORELAI: Right I’m not talking about selling it. I’m talking about maybe if you misplaced a canister or two.
SUE: Misplaced?
LORELAI: Misplaced.
SUE: Honey.
LORELAI: Yes?
SUE: Christmas is over.
LORELAI: Okay.
