I’m in a state of shock. Something that I never thought could happen has happened, and I’m feeling a little faint about it all. And it was in How I Met Your Mother’s long-teased 100th episode that it happened.

No, we didn’t actually meet the elusive mother, and neither did Ted – as much as they might have suggested he might. It’s much more serious than that. And no, there wasn’t finally a love triangle between Marshall, Lily and Robin, although heaven only knows it’s probably on its way (let alone a general orgy involving them all, which will take place the week after that). And no, Ted didn’t suddenly shed his remarkable whiny-douchness and become someone ANY right thinking woman would want to spend the rest of their lives with. No. It was more remarkable still.

Yes: In the first time since I don’t know when, I found myself not wholeheartedly adoring something Neil Patrick Harris did. To the extent of not liking it at all. Of even – whisper it – thinking it was BAD. Please, don’t look at me that way, I want to unspeak the words even more than you want to unhear them. But it’s true.

I’m not going to call Suits: The Musical a shark-jumping scene, and I’m absolutely allowing for the fact that it was a special occasion to mark the 100th episode … but it didn’t fit. Neil Patrick Harris is a polished song-and-dance man, but this was too polished. It stuck out from the episode like a sore thumb, and … well, I might have some more thoughts on it later – but the initial reaction was that they had taken all the things that people love NPH for outside this show, all the things he does so well in other places, and they’d crammed it in with all the subtlety and seamlessness of someone trying to stuff an ice cream cake into a coin purse.

And it’s a shame, because it’s the first time HIMYM or The Blessed Doogie has put a foot wrong with me in the longest time. And that they both had to do it at the same time? Oh, the pain. The shiny, tuneful, well-choreographed pain. It hurts.