Barney, when trying to find the proper way to describe his procedure of finding the right person, would use a metaphor: Finding someone special was like buying a suit. Not a suit; the perfectsuit.

You had to shop around a bit, find the one that fits you, the one that is perfect, the suit Barney liked to call The Suit:capitals, Italics, the works. It was the suit that every man dreamed of finding, the one that accentuates all the right places, the one with the fantastic stitching, flawless seams, great color, everything. It was the same thing with people: you wanted someone who you could get along with, someone who would look good with and someone who would look good with you, and who you meshed with perfectly. But like suits, they were hard to find. You could go through dozens of suits, trying to find the right one, and never even come close. It was hard work, it took practice.

You had to learn what you're looking for, and the best places to find it. Macy's After Christmas Blowout Sales Rack? Probably not the right place. Your great Aunt's funeral? Never. The dark blue, almost purple looking suit that's sitting, wrinkled in the corner? Almost never the right choice. Your grieving third cousin? No, no, that one will get you a southern-aimed kick that will have you wincing when you sit for a week after.

Soon you'll find the right places to go. The quaint shop on the corner with the little old Italian seamstress who knows you by name, or the quiet corner of the bar where, if standing in just the right light, one could look brooding and mysterious, yet welcoming all at the same time. In each of these places you'll find some good picks and some not-so-good ones.

There's always the suit that looks good on the hanger, or the manikin, the one with the gold cufflinks and the pale stitching, but once you try it on you realize it's awful; It's unflattering, tight in all the wrong places, and all together horrible. That would have to be Rhonda, the sexy barmaid who'd looked fantastic with a mug of frothing beer in her hand, but once he'd gotten her home, all she wanted to do was bitch and moan about her ex-boyfriend, who'd apparently left her for her mother-in-law.

Then there was the suit you tried on in the store, and in the bright florescent lighting it looks great, but once you bring it home and you look at it in the much more personal lighting of your own home, you realize it's just not you. It's a fine suit, sure, but it's not the one you're looking for, no matter what you do. That would have to be Robin; a great lay, a great friend, but absolutely nothing could ever work between them, it was embedded into the laws of the universe. Robin was great, but not what he was looking for.

Sometimes you'll find a great suit, it looks nice, it fits well, but it won't last long. One bar fight and the sleeve rips, the collar's seams come undone, the padding separates, and it's just not worth it, even if you do look pretty damn sexy while getting your ass kicked –erm, you mean kicking someone else's ass. Ah, that one was definitely Nicole: the one who agrees to casual sex, was a great lay, but can't stay in one place for too long, and while it was great while it lasted, by the end of a week she'd moved on to Aidan, the ex-bouncer for MacLaren's, with the Red Socks tattoo and the badly cut hair.

Sometimes you'll go out looking for a suit- no, The Suit- but it just doesn't work. You've been to twenty different stores, tried on dozens of suits, and none of them are what you're looking for. Defeated, dejected, you get in the car and start to drive home, but a store on the corner catches your eye. You've always seen it, but never really decided to go in, it's outside your usual comfort zone, but you're desperate at this point, so think "What the hell?" and you park and walk in.

You sift through the suits, one by one, finding something wrong with all of them. This one's too big, that one's too small, it's too short, it's too long, definitely not the right color, you already have one just like that; there's just nothing special, and you begin to lose hope with every middle class piece of material that passes through your fingers.

But then, as you're about to turn to the door, something catches your eye, and you decide to try it on, just as a last-ditch attempt to find what you're looking for, and it's amazing.It's simple, basic black, but so utterly intricate and gorgeous that you don't think you'll ever look at another suit again. The color, the craftsmanship, the cut, the stitching, everything fit's like it was made for you and only you. The oddest thing is that it feels like you've seen this suit a million and one times before, and you're left to wonder why you've never tried it on.

That last, perfect suit, The Suit, as it turns out, was Ted, surprisingly enough. One night, after a dry spell, not of women, but happiness, Ted was there, comforting, loving, protecting- everything Barney needed, and he wondered why it never occurred to him to give Ted a shot before, to try him on for size. And so he did; pulled out all the stops: champagne, jokes, subtle compliments, small talk that came much easier than he could ever remember. Yes, he tried Ted on for size, and he found that the man who was sitting across from him, who was smiling and laughing and who had actually suited-up for him, fit exactly right- like a glove. It felt completely right, for once.

And it didn't worry Barney in the slightest.

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