Chapter 1: Preface

She first learned about the Rule of Three from Cosmo.

Lorelai picked up many cast-aside magazines in her job as a maid, both from the rooms she cleaned, and from the lobby display as the new issues came in. But Cosmo was special. Half torture, half delight, it both intrigued and taunted her with the life she was not leading.

So once a month, with Rory tucked in bed and sleeping her deep toddler sleep, Lorelai would pull out the latest issue and spend an evening immersed in a world that was not hers. Probably not anyone's, really. But especially not hers, here in her converted potting shed, twenty years old and the mother of an inquisitive, exhausting, adorable almost four-year-old.

She read about the dates she wasn't going on, the sex she wasn't having, the drinks she wasn't ordering, the office job she wasn't managing. Or 'career', she should say.

But she loved it nonetheless, and the hours spent immersed in this high powered, fun, superficial world were a balm to her sometimes drudgery-filled life. What to do when he hasn't called, how to go from your work look to your evening look with three simple accessories, how to tame the frizzies? The answers Cosmo gave were comforting in their certainty.

And during one of these binge reading sessions, she came upon "The Cosmo Girl's Guide to Finding the (not so) Perfect Apartment" – and thus the Rule of Three. According to the article, the Rule of Three was what real estate agents suggested for people of limited means – A.K.A. 'girls on a budget'. Consider the three key factors of any apartment and rank them.

Size, location, cost. The bottom line, according to the article, was that you can expect to get two of these, but not all three. If a living room large enough to have your friends over and residing in a safe part of town were your top concerns, you were going to have to pay — a lot. If you had two roommates and you each wanted your own room, but none of you were making much money, the neighborhood you settled for was likely to be "in transition". And if you wanted to be able to walk to your midtown job but could only afford so much on rent, your apartment was going to be small. Very small.

Bottom line? Two out of three ain't bad, once you identified what mattered most.

Lorelai read this and couldn't help looking around her own home.

Location? Couldn't beat that. Not only beautiful views and safe as could be, but the shortest commute ever, difficult only in the pouring rain or driving snow. Rent? Almost free, when you came down to it. She wrote a check to Mia every month, but knew it was far below what Mia could make if she converted the garden shed to a honeymoon cottage.

But size? Cozy if you were being kind, cramped if you were being honest, and on the really hard days, more than a little claustrophobic.

She nodded her head in satisfaction. Rule of three. Makes sense. Two out of three ain't bad.

She set aside Cosmo and pulled herself off the couch, ready to snuggle in with her sleeping daughter.

In the days and weeks that followed, she found she couldn't get the rule of three concept out of her head. One slow afternoon, she described it to Sookie, and they spent hours dissecting it, and applying it to other facets of life.

First, there was the fun of deciding what the three key factors of any given thing would be. Then, debating which two of the three were most important. And finally, endless hours of applying the rules to specific cases.

It became one of their things.

Boyfriends. Looks, personality, prospects.

As with apartments, each of those three key factors encompassed so much more. Not just looks, but physical chemistry in general. Not just personality, but compatibility, general sanity, endearing —or annoying— quirks. And prospects didn't mean, for them, finding sugar daddies. Instead — was he stable, doing work that made him reasonably happy and therefore well-adjusted, and likely to be able to support himself? And eventually, help support a family?

Criteria settled, they spent a fun evening, or two, going over their exes, concluding that the rule of three held up. Something key — often two things — was always missing. Which explained a lot about why they were both single.

Jobs. Salary. Boss and co-workers. The work itself.

Boss was easy. You couldn't get better than Mia. Firm but fair, always willing to teach and guide, always looking out for Lorelai's and Sookie's potential, and future opportunities. A true mentor, and a true friend. Being friends with your boss was something that could be a problem, Cosmo often said. But somehow with Mia it worked.

The work. This one she argued with Sookie about for a while, having trouble explaining to her best friend just how fulfilling she found her job. Sure it was hard, physically hard, and repetitive. But from the beginning, Lorelai found cleaning the rooms deeply satisfying. There was a clear standard, and it was her job to come in and bring the room back up to it. Except in rare cases of truly awful guests, bringing it back into line was not that complicated. Stripping the beds, cleaning the bathrooms, vacuuming and dusting: all a routine, her mind free to make up fun games for Rory, or to roam to all manner of other things when she was alone. And at the end, a neatly made bed and an orderly room smelling sweetly of furniture polish and fresh flowers.

Salary. That was the sacrifice. Generous as Mia was, and strategic in trying to keep good people with competitive pay, the market rate for cleaning hotel rooms was just not that great. Even as Lorelai got raises and promotions, the money was better but not enough, yet, to pay for what she wanted for her growing girl. A home, a room of her own, a life in town. A car. Clothes without always scrimping. A little left over for fun things — seeing a movie in the theater more than twice a year. Cable. As many books as Rory wanted. College.

Thus thoroughly tested and found to be reliable, the rule of three became a favorite game, pulled out from time to time by Sookie and Lorelai when they were bored, analyzing a first date, going through a break-up, or just in the mood for assessing life and dreaming of the future. Eventually, they began to come up with a rule of three for what they dubbed "the whole package". There was a fair amount of debate over the components.

Love.

Work.

Life.

Or is the third one family? But shouldn't family be part of love? No, love meant romantic love, physical love— that person you wanted to spend your life with, build a family with.

But maybe, once you had found that person, once you were married and building that family, maybe love and family were combined?

Life was the better fit for family, Sookie argued. Life was everything outside of work —your home, your friends, your hobbies. Time spent away from work, to relax, to enjoy.

Maybe family went with life, Lorelai agreed. But family – for her – was complicated. Her deepest satisfaction in life came from the family created by Rory being born. The two of them. But family for her also meant her parents, no matter how little she saw of them, and the discontent there was huge.

And on they went, stopping every once in a while to assess their jobs, their crushes, their lives.

Overall, Lorelai ended each of these conversations more cheerful than not. Almost always, she came up with two out of three that were working.

It wasn't until many years after she first read that Cosmo article that she finally challenged a basic tenet of the rule of three: that something would always be missing. That two out of three was the best you could hope for. That you could never have it all.

Until one day, walking away from Luke, and a girl filling salt and pepper shakers, she asked, why the hell not?