How I Met Your Mother

Listen, I didn't mean to meet your mother. It was a

series of catastrophic failures. It started with a rainy Tuesday and an umbrella

that was more of a decorative sieve. Suddenly, I am being

swept away by a parade of bread-shaped mascot costumes. Then, out of nowhere,

a giant goose decides my shoelaces are its mortal enemies. I tripped,

tumbled, and performed a perfect somersault into a pile of artisan flour.

Through the white dust, I saw her. She was holding a tray of

steaming croissants. She didn't say anything poetic. She just asked if I was