Frenchmen and the quintessential morning after pic

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.

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