my bag is famous.

It was Friday night, you know, a typical Friday night. Had a few girlfriends over. We were picking up food at the grocery store beneath my house and then we were going to settle in to watch crap TV, talk, and stuff faces. You know, typical Friday night, right?
So we are downstairs, I'm in the worst possible outfit I could be in. Spent most of the daylight hours under my covers trying to beat whatever was trying to find refuge in my throat. Stretch pants, over-sized t-shirt, crooked glasses, hair a mess.
My friend turns to me to ask where I get my grocery bags, the ones I bring with me to the store each time I go shopping. I tell her, then continue perusing the ice cream cabinet for what would feel best emotionally but would do the least amount of damage to the oncoming sickness.
"Why?" I ask, distracted over chocolate chocolate-chip and chunky monkey.
"This guy, that one there, he needs bags for the TV show he is filming."
My ears perk up. What? TV show? My dreams of becoming rich and famous all flash before my eyes.
"Whhhooo???"
At this point the guy with the earpiece hears us and comes over.
"Wait, you're looking for a bag. Like. What kind of bag? I have bags. I have all kinds of bags. I live upstairs. I could get you a bag. What do you need?" Yes, I'm well aware that I'm speaking a hundred miles an hour.
After digesting my words, and getting over his sudden shock at my over enthusiasm, he begins talking at a speed not much different than mine.
"You know. A bag. We need to make it look like this guy uses these bags when shopping. I just need a bag. We're filming down the street. A new Lifetime show - Modern Love. He goes grocery shopping, and he needs a bag. But it can't have any logo on it. It can't have any words on it either. You got one? You got a bag?"
My mind is going through every single bag I have hanging upstairs on the inside of the coat closet door, trying to figure out if I have something that fits his description.
"Listen, I'm going upstairs and I'll bring you something. Just wait here."
I run upstairs, go through everything I have, and run back down with bags in my hand and dreams in my heart of being famous. Or at least my bag being famous.
"Here you go!" He looks through my pile of bags, picks one he loves, and exclaims - "This one! This one is perfect!"
And right there on the street corner, the man with the earpiece and tousled hair hands me a five dollar bill for a white, mesh, non-descript bag, perfect for veggies.
So look for it. On the pilot of Modern Love. And know that that bag came straight from me and is living out my dream of being famous.