What first got me interested in How I Met Your Mother was the basic premise: a five-some of twentysomethings living in New York City — exactly what I was looking for to fill the hole Friends, a show I watched religiously, left after it came to its end the season prior. What kept me hooked, however, was how the relationships between those five characters developed.

In many ways, I saw my own relationships mirrored on the television screen in Lily, Marshall, Ted, Robin, and Barney. I was drawn deeper into the show because it felt like an extension of my reality. I knew versions of these people in my real life, but I spent every single Monday night with the fictional versions of them. When Marshall found out his father had died and cried in Lily's arms, I cried too. Because who doesn't, unfortunately, have at least one friend or loved one who has lost a parent too soon?

I'm not going to argue that Ted never got annoying, or that Barney never acted appallingly, or that Robin didn't seem a tad mean when she yelled at Patrice for the umpteenth time. But in a sea of over-the-top melodramas and unrealistic reality shows, How I Met Your Mother felt relatable.

As the seasons went on, however, and Ted dated more and more women who weren't the woman, it began to get frustrating — I can't even imagine how Penny and Luke felt on that couch. But I'd put in all this time and energy and genuinely cared about all of the characters. What was one, two, or three more seasons of listening to stories from MacLaren's?

I was willing to wait for that happy ending.