Last night, Nina and I were standing on the corner of 46th and 9th trying to hail a cab when a couple of French tourists approached us on the street. Nina’s fluent in French, so I often end up watching her have conversations in French while I nod and pretend I have a clue what she’s saying. So this happens, and after bumming a cigarette off of one of the Frenchmen, he starts asking me where they should go out. Basing my suggestions purely on stereotypes, I recommended that they head down to the meatpacking district. I’m explaining what he can expect when he interrupts me and says,
“We are looking for zhee MacLaren’s Pub.”
I perked up, “MacLaren’s Pub? Like in How I Met-”
“Yes, yes. How I met zjour muh-zehhr!”
“That show is SO GOOD! You know there’s not a real MacLaren’s pub, right?”
“Yes, but somezing similar would be good. You know, Bah-Nee Steensohn is my idole!”
“Can I take your picture?”
The Barney Stinson of Marseilles
In another part of Manhattan, Austin, Angela, Ani and Alexa (or The As, as I call them) went to like 5 different bars. This morning when I went to crawl into bed with Austin and exchange stories of our nights, I found this:
Yup. That seems about right.
