“All About Robin”

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That’s what the fucking show should have been called.

Or, “How I Met Your Mother Even Though I Was, Still-Am-But-In-Denial, And Forever-Shall-Be In Love With YOUR Aunt Robin.”

Yes. I am…errr, was, WAS, soooooo was, a die-hard “How I Met Your Mother” fan and I was waiting with bated breath, such bated breath that my lungs hurt, for last night’s finale. And my lungs are still hurting, because there is this giant-sized sense of betrayal and rage that is lodged in the middle of my chest.

How could you?

For nine years we have watched you, rooted for you, hurrahed you, waiting for this grand romance, this sense of magic that would sweep over our lives and make us believe in all things beautiful, and this is what you do? You kill the ‘Mother’ who we’ve all fallen in love with, and get him to chase after Robin again? Robin?

How could you?

You give us this warm, adorable woman who WE ALL fall in love with, including Ted’s gang of friends and you just kill her? And you actually thought that giving her a stupid photo montage was an appropriate way to say goodbye to her? For nine years you make us wait for her and then you just kick us in the teeth and claw our hearts out.

Truth be told, we’re not stupid. This obsession with Robin was in-your-face throughout the series. At first it was endearing, then it got irritating, then maddening and finally, when Ted decided to move to Chicago because he just couldn’t be near a married-Robin, it just got oh-come-on-for-fuck’s-sake-enough-already!

We’re not stupid. What with Season 9 starting with a lovelorn Ted looking at Robin all mooney-eyed whenever she’d enter the room, it struck us that this man had an obsessive thing about this woman. It struck us that throughout these past nine years, all Ted has basically done is talk non-stop about Robin. It struck us that isn’t that kind of ewwww for the kids? It struck us that even Ted’s ex-girlfriends were wary of this woman from Victoria to Stella to Blah-blah, or Carol apparently.

But then, you introduce us to this quirky, adorable, amazing woman who you know is sooooo right for Ted. She’s right for us. She belongs. She was worth the nine years. She was worth waiting for. She was The One.

Except, you obviously didn’t think so. It’s Robin’s been The One all along. And that hurts. That hurt’s REAL bad.

We’re not stupid. Especially those of us who live in India and who grew up to a movie called “Kuch Kuch Hota Hain” where the hero marries his college sweetheart, who dies leaving behind letters to their daughter telling her to find father’s best friend, whose always been in love with him, and to hook them up. It may sound cheesy and schmaltzy but heck, I LOVE that movie! Yes, that’s ‘LOVE’ in capital letters.

You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have let us down so badly. People like me, who always vote for the nice one. You just proved, once again, it’s the gorgeous, stick-insects and not the sweet rays of sunshine who win. Ms. Spice over Ms. Sugar. The Hot Girl over the Girl Next Door.

Because you see, I am a Girl Next Door. You gave girls (errrm, yes, I know…poetic license to prove a point) like me, someone to root for. You made us fall in love with her. She was someone we could see ourselves being BFF’s with, giggling with, watching old musicals with, getting drunk on tequila shots with and going to book reading sessions with. Not Robin. Never Robin. We’re all Patrices to your Robin.

And so, to make The Mother so incidental, so insignificant in your grand scheme of things…yeah, it hurts achingly. Because, it’s not about The Mother. It never was. It was always about Robin.

We’re not stupid. We know that shit happens. And your series finale was shit.

But then again, despite knowing and feeling uncomfortable by the amount of coverage that Robin got on the series,  about the cringe-worthy scene on the beach where Ted lets her go and she flies away (WTF??) we still waited on the edge of our seats for that grand moment under the Yellow Umbrella at Farhampton station. And instead you bludgeon our emotional intelligence and deafen us with discordant notes from the Blue Horn.

Guess I’m stupid after all.

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