Clearly, there is no option other than the conveniently sized liquor store bag. Unless, of course, you're a traditionalist and somehow have a cache of paper lunch bags, which you can actually purchase at the grocery store. But paying for bags just totally creases me: why on earth would I pay for such things when I have this embarassment of riches spilling forth from my broom closet?

My mother would never have purchased lunch bags either. Of course, my mother had an entire cupboard--a vault, really--devoted to her behemoth paper bag collection. The four shelves were organized by size but crammed to capacity. What sort of person would have hundreds of paper bags, organized by size? The same sort who also had a cupboard devoted to ancient plastic containers.

These containers, which my mother referred to as "Tupperware," consisted of frozen whipped topping and margarine tubs and yogurt and ricotta quart containers. (cf: See this? She sent me home with leftovers in this container, but on the condition that I return it. The Finast closed in 1993, but this relic is actually as old as I am.)

Interestingly, we never ate Parkay or Polly-O or Cool Whip. Yet somehow she managed to acquire all of these items, which means that she not only saved them, but she stole them out of other peoples' garbage.

She also had a drawer full of those rubber bands that come off of broccoli stalks and a cabinet full of microwave TV dinner containers and take-out receptacles. The rubber band drawer also contained several years' worth of forgotten S&H green stamps.

Anyhow, my mother packed my lunch every day. Tuna sandwich and tinfoil-wrapped apple juice drinkbox. In a paperbag from the vault. I was occasionally allowed to buy lunch on Friday, which was pizza day. Lunch cost less than a dollar and I was allowed to keep the change as my allowance.

I guess I was lucky that my mother had the time to pack my lunch every day. How did she have the time to do that and still manage to be so crazy?

Of course, those who live in glass houses and all that. Herewith, please enjoy my Andy Rooney-esque examination of my own crazy.

See, whenever a bag comes into the house, I immediately consider whether or not it's worth keeping. But since, as a sociopath, I tend to be sympathetic to inanimate objects, most bags make the cut.

This is the contents of my broom closet.

Of course, the bags belong in the holder. But the holder is full.

This is a standard liquor store bag. Not terribly sturdy, and it feels sticky in one's hand, but it'd be a shame to throw it away.

This is marginally better. It's got the standard gusseted bottom, the slim shape, but as a plus, it's a color. Yes, a keeper.

Oooh, this is a nice one. It's opaque, which is good, and it's poly, which means it feels better. To whom, I don't know.

This? This is the liquor store bag ne plus ultra. It's sturdy (for those heavyweight lunches), poly, and dare I say it, almost classy. This is the type of bag I'd think twice about offering to just anyone. Nope, this I'd keep for myself.

I save all kinds of bags, not just the liquor store variety. I mean, sometimes you need something more. My particular favorite kind of bag is the heavyduty, colorful, and large grocery bags you get in Chinatown. For some reason, I don't have any of those right now, but I think this might be because guests have appropriated these bags for their own purposes without knowing the guidelines.

This one isn't especially remarkable, but it's a pretty color and it has an interesting message on it. Because it's lightweight, I would probably offer it to a guest and not ask they bring it back.

This is a bag from an Italian pastry shop. While it is aesthetically unlovely, it's extra wide, and has a gusseted bottom, and it's sturdy. This is a bag for a special occasion.

This is a bag that I will probably never use, because it is just that special. This bag came from Italy! A souvenir in its own right. I don't know that I'll find the appropriate occasion to carry something in it, so for the time being, it will stay in the broom closet.

I know how this looks. (Especially now.) But if not me, who? No one can appreciate these bags the way they deserve. I give them all a special purpose.

Please don't call the authorities.