Bigfoot: How Pregnancy Changed Me

By C. Collins

Recently there has been a great controversy surrounding the continuous search for

the elusive creature called Bigfoot. I am embarrassed to admit, my secret identity is

Sasquatch. The subject of all the photographs and speculation is really just me.

I am sorry to have caused such a disturbance. The reason is because I have been

neglecting my appearance since the birth of my daughter.

I didn’t think it would ever come to this. After all, I was conscientious about my

appearance as a teenager and young woman. I was one of those girls who never left the

house without makeup.

But a number of circumstances contributed to my recent lack of hygiene. The first

is that my husband made the mistake of telling me that he loves me for who I am, no

matter what I look like. Looking back, he probably was trying to sooth my self-

consciousness about my appearance from having a baby, but I have taken this to heart and

skipped the time-consuming beauty routine altogether, relishing that reclaimed bit of free

time to myself. I believed him and felt that there was truth in what the woman told the

other mothers in that classic movie “Kindergarten Cop,” “you don’t need to look good –

you’re married!” I never thought it would happen, but I actually grew tired of dealing

with the ogling and leering from guys in trucks and at worksites. The final straw may

have been the guy who licked his lips suggestively at me – when I was eight and a half

months pregnant! What a perv…nobody could have found me attractive at that height of

rotundness.
 Secondly, my daughter is just such a cute little pumpkin-pie-pumpernickel-bread

–iced-cinnamon-roll that nobody notices me. I could forget to wear pants one day and I’ll

bet nobody would even look twice. It’s always, “Oh what a cute outfit!” “Isn’t she the

most precious little thing you’ve ever seen?” “She is the most beautiful baby!” “What

pretty eyes, etc., etc.” My daughter knows how to milk these compliments too, by being

on her best behavior and striking a movie-star/fashion model pose, flashing a four-tooth

grin and waving her best beauty-pageant-winner-wave to the crowd. She may even glance

at me over her shoulder, giving me the honor of pushing her stroller for another few

blocks afterward.

Finally, the time came for me to discard my Yeti appearance and shower. The

electricity went out and the people of the neighborhood were out on their porches due to

the severe heat. My husband and some other men were talking on the street and I heard

one of the men say, “What the heck is that?” as he nodded in my direction.

“What?” my husband asked.

“That big, hairy gorilla-looking thing on your porch!” When I realized he was

referring to me, I ran, Yeti-style, out of the public view and decided to do something

drastic.

I finally showered. After securing a babysitter for the duration, I had to soap up

and rinse every part of me about three times. There was so much grease in my hair that

the shampoo would not lather up on the first attempt. I actually attempted to shape the

hair growth in the nether region, but my shaver had been used so infrequently that the

charge just died within thirty seconds.

As I watched the tufts of hair swirl in the drain, I did feel better.
 After a lengthy search, I did find the line of my eyebrow underneath the thick

growth that extended to my hairline. I didn’t realize that eyebrow hair could grow to be

several inches long. My chin hairs had formed a sparse goatee, but fortunately my

husband lost his glasses and I only let him see me from far away.

I would like to offer my apologies for the misunderstanding and will try to make

time to shower, depilate, and groom myself on a regular basis. If I do fail at this goal,

however, please do not contact the authorities. They shoot to kill.