Six months into her rise to fame, Meg Griffin was no longer the awkward girl from Quahog. Well, okay—she was still awkward, but now it was chic. The internet adored her "relatable messiness," and her career had skyrocketed. She was the face of three major ad campaigns, had graced the cover of Relate magazine (the lesser-known but highly-followed cousin of Vogue), and her TikTok had over two million followers.

Meg had officially arrived.

She sat in her new high-rise LA apartment, sipping a green smoothie that tasted suspiciously like dirt and kale, scrolling through her notifications. Her agent, Lacey, had sent her the itinerary for the day:

Interview with Trendsetter Weekly

Fitting for a new campaign

Guest appearance on a celebrity podcast

Meg sighed. "So much for being relatable," she muttered. "Who even likes kale?"

As she was lamenting her smoothie, her phone buzzed. It was a FaceTime from Peter. Against her better judgment, she answered.

"MEGGGGGG!" Peter shouted, his face filling the screen. He was wearing an apron that read Kiss the Cook, though it looked like it had seen better days.

"Hi, Dad," Meg said, bracing herself.

"Hey, so I was thinkin'," Peter said, licking BBQ sauce off his fingers. "Now that you're rich and famous, you should buy me a boat."

Meg blinked. "What? No. Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm your father, and I deserve it," Peter said, as though this were the most logical argument in the world.

"Dad, I'm not rich. I'm just… doing okay."

"Oh, come on! You're on billboards and stuff! I saw one the other day. It said, 'Meg Griffin: Fashion's Favorite Disaster.'" He paused. "Not the nicest tagline, but hey, it's work!"

"Thanks for the support," Meg said dryly. "And no, I'm not buying you a boat."

"Well, then how about—" Peter's face disappeared from the screen as Stewie pushed him aside.

"Finally, a face worth seeing," Stewie said, settling into view. "Meg, I must say, I'm impressed. You've managed to parlay your mediocrity into a career. It's… inspiring, in a way."

"Gee, thanks, Stewie," Meg said. "What do you want?"

"Nothing, really," Stewie said, examining his nails. "Just thought I'd check in and remind you to remain humble. Fame is a fickle mistress, dear sister."

Before Meg could reply, Stewie leaned closer to the camera. "Oh, and while I have you, could you put in a good word for me with that TikTok influencer, Addison Rae? I feel like we'd vibe."

"Stewie, you're a baby."

"And you're famous for tripping over cords. Let's not split hairs."

Meg rolled her eyes and hung up, only for her phone to buzz again. This time, it was Lacey.

"Meg, darling," Lacey said breathlessly. "Are you sitting down?"

"Yes, why?"

"Great news. Really big deal. Are you ready? You've been invited to the Met Gala."

Meg froze, her smoothie halfway to her mouth. "The Met Gala? Like, the Met Gala Met Gala?"

"Yes! Anna Wintour herself approved you. Can you believe it?"

"No," Meg said honestly.

"Well, believe it. The theme is Ethereal Elegance. You'll be dressed by a top designer. This is huge, Meg. HUGE."

As soon as Lacey hung up, Meg stared at her reflection in the window. The Met Gala? The girl who once got locked in her own locker was going to the most exclusive event in fashion? She pinched herself, just to be sure.

The Night of the Gala

Meg's look for the Met Gala was stunning—at least, according to Lacey and the designer. She wore a gown made of cascading layers of sheer fabric that gave her the appearance of floating. Her hair was styled into an elegant updo, and she even had makeup done by a celebrity artist. She felt like Cinderella, except without the helpful mice.

As she arrived on the red carpet, cameras flashed, and reporters shouted her name. Meg smiled nervously, trying to look poised as she waved.

But just as she took her first step, her heel caught on the hem of her dress. In slow motion, she toppled forward, landing on the carpet in a tangle of fabric and limbs. The crowd gasped.

"Oh my God, it's happening again," Meg muttered, scrambling to her feet.

To her surprise, the crowd erupted in cheers. Reporters shouted things like, "Classic Meg!" and "So relatable!" Her fans flooded Twitter with memes of her fall, captioned with things like, "She's just like us!"

By the time she made it inside the gala, Meg was trending again—but not for her gown. For her gracelessness.

After the Gala

Back in her apartment, Meg collapsed onto the couch, still wearing her gown. Her phone was blowing up with notifications, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

Brian and Stewie appeared on FaceTime, both looking far too amused.

"Well, well, well," Stewie said, sipping from a juice box. "Another iconic moment for the Relatable Queen."

"You know," Brian added, "I think you should lean into it. Maybe start a YouTube series: 'Meg's Awkward Adventures.' It could be huge."

Meg groaned. "I tripped at the Met Gala. Who does that?"

"You," Stewie said simply.

Brian grinned. "And we wouldn't have it any other way."

As Meg hung up, she finally let herself laugh. Fame was weird, and her life was still a mess—but at least now, people loved her for it.

And honestly? She wouldn't have it any other way.