I love my Mr. Undercover,
but count on him being a lousy detective.
Until he confronts me
with soft concern.
Holds a mirror to my face,
points out my gauntness,
dark circles under my eyes.
His buttinski-stupid-sister
explained bulimia to him.
I promise to stop. We share
an Oprah-worthy moment.
Audience says, Awwww,
we cry and embrace
all while I’m
watching for a commercial break
to get some alone time
with a frigging toilet.