The Baked Baby Suit

"Oh miss" the young soldier said
as I reached over his head to
turn off his call button,
"I seem to have a problem with
my baby. She just threw up
all over herself."
I looked down at the cute,
chubby little girl and asked
how old she was. "She is only
six months old and I'm taking her
to see my parents for the first time."
Boston to LA is about five hours
and we had just finished our meal service.
I smiled warmly and said, "Don't worry
about a thing, I'll help you put
her in a clean outfit."
His dark eyebrows came together
and I followed his gaze down
to the tiny diaper bag.
"I didn't bring another outfit."
My brain spun wildly for a minute
before I could think of what to do.
Sure I was trained by an FBI specialist
for what to do in a hi-jacking,
but they seemed to have forgotten to
train us about baby puke.
"I have an idea. I can wash
and dry her outfit in an hour and in the
meantime you can roll her up in a blanket."
I took the soiled outfit to the restroom
and pumped as much soap as I could
and then filled the sink with hot water.
After a wash and rinse repeat cycle
I was good to go.
I did some serious wringing out
and popped into my galley and decided on
a hot start then a heat reduction,
like a blackberry cobbler.
The MD80 aft galley is a tiny hole
off to one side of the rear aisle
and I shut the curtain, lest the passengers
saw what I was up to.
After fifteen minutes at 425, I lowered
the heat to 325 and rotated the suit every
ten minutes. I was sliding out the narrow
rack when my buddy-bidder Theresa showed
up. She looked at the fuzzy terrycloth
and said, "Whatcha makin buddy?"
I smiled at my fresh, dry little outfit
and said, "Oh, just baked baby suit."