"Who's the rich jackass with the Rolls Royce?" you ask as you point at the sleek black car, your gaze shifts to your daughter, Zoe, with a small smirk. Zoe snorts and opens her mouth to release a witty remark back to you when her words stop in her throat as the car gets closer. "Isn't that, mother's car?" she asked, more to herself than to you.

And, as if the devil has been called to the small town of Star's Hollow himself, Victoria gets out of the car in all her elegant glory. She straightens her blazer and parts her painted lips to speak a greeting, but Zoe lunging to hug her sire interrupts any polite and rehearsed words that might have been said by the congresswoman.