Yak Attack

The other night I got a call. It was a call of distress from the wife. It seems that, to quote her, "The baby threw up all over the car". By car she meant my SUV with many nooks and crannies to be filled with baby spew. I was eerily reminded of a time not too distant when this same SUV was filled with puke from a child we were watching. In this case there was puke EVERYWHERE. Fortunately for me, I did not clean up that mess. This was different. The wife and girls were coming home from a friends house and the baby was tired and it was actually my kid so I didn't have too much problem with cleaning it. So after the call, I scramble to get the cleaning supplies, trash bags and Lysol. I dash for the car, and grab the baby from the quickly opening door. I try to pawn her off on a kid so I can begin cleanup. The kid runs in fear. I decide to run the baby upstairs and throw her in the tub. I grab her clothes and take them back downstairs for disenfecting and go to work on the car.

I was expecting The Exorcist. From the way the women ran out of the ride, you would have thought the baby's head had exploded. Instead, I found minimal yak. I had it cleaned and the ride smelling fresh in less than five minutes. It took me longer to pick up all their Burger King trash than to pick up the puke. I was glad.

After talking to the wife later in the evening, it turns out she was mislead by the screams and tears of the child next to the baby. This child will remain nameless but she was screaming and crying like Brett Favre at the end of last season. The other child in the car had her fingers in her ears and was humming to drown out the obviously disturbing hurling noises. I can only imagine what the wife thought was being released in the back seat. This time, at least, we avoided the big one.