We have all heard at this point that there is going to be a Gilmore Girls revival on Netflix sometime in the next year or so. It may be good (WHAS reunion) or it may be embarrassing (Arrested Development reunion). I do not care. I have modest but specific hopes for it: namely that Amy Sherman-Palladino incorporates the passing of actor Edward Herrmann into the series by making Emily Gilmore a late-in-life lesbian.

After, of course, an appropriate mourning period; I do not mean to suggest that their love was not real and enduring. But it would suit her, I think, suit her exactly right down to the ground. Think of how much she would love getting the chance to shock Lorelai, for one thing!

“It’s called late-in-life lesbianism, Lorelai,” Emily would say sharply, “and I certainly would have thought you of all people had heard of it.”

“It’s not that I haven’t heard of it, Mom,” Lorelai would start. “I just never thought –”

“Never thought your boring old mother, reliable old Emily Gilmore, could do anything you couldn’t do? I know what you think of me, Lorelai. Well, it may interest you to know that you don’t know everything about me.”

“Mom, it’s not that, honest, you just took me by surprise, for a minute.”

“And she’s from a VERY good family, so I’d like it if you could at least wear gloves to dinner this Friday night.”

Think of the stunt casting! Julianne Moore! Angela Bassett! Michelle Pfeiffer! Jada Pinkett-Smith! Jane Seymour! Rosie Perez! Susan Sarandon! Ellen Barkin! Chita Rivera! Gina Torres! Diana Ross! Jessica Lange! Raquel Welch! Each one of them frostier and grande-dame-ier than the last!

“Lorelai, I would like you to meet Meredith Rolfe [played by Iman], of the Virginia Rolfes. She is my lesbian companion.”

“Mom, you can just say girlfriend.”

“I certainly can NOT. A Rolfe, of the Virginia Rolfes, my GIRLFRIEND? They’re descended from Pocahontas. They’re the closest thing this country has to royalty. Honestly, Lorelai.”

They met at the club/at the beauty salon/at the DAR’s annual lesbian orgy/use the same maid service/hired the same ice sculptor/dedicated the same wing of a hospital and they both reached for the christening bottle of champagne at the same time. Every week a new society girlfriend, every week a brilliant new guest star.

“And they aren’t matching pantsuits Doris and I are wearing, Lorelai,” Emily would say. “They’re color-coordinated. Matching is déclassé.”