As the temperature reaches boiling point in Abu Dhabi, I’m reminded of a day I spent on the beach with my husband’s family.

Now, my husband is generally a pretty responsible guy – his job involves making sure airplanes filled with people bound for and leaving the capital don’t crash, so while he’s fun loving, he’s not often the kind of person to play fast and loose with safety.

So I feel compelled to begin by saying that the following adventure was his idea.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day and we were all enjoying splashing in the water and lounging in the sun. When two of the older boys dug a sizeable hole in the sand, my husband thought it would be a great idea to bury all the kids. Being boys, they heartily agreed.

It looked like something out of a grisly execution scene – crouched on their knees, the kids each held still while we responsible adults buried them up to their necks. When we were done, nothing was left but four blonde heads resting their chins on the beach. Had the boys not been laughing, any innocent passerby might have suspected we’d decapitated them.

Not one minute later, we gave our fellow beach goers true cause for concern – the moment we completed our task, a random wave rose up and crashed over all the kids’ heads.

The next few minutes saw us frantically unearthing the children, clawing at the loosely packed sand and yanking them to safety before the ocean could finish them. The good news is that the rogue wave was not enough to drown them and they escaped unharmed.

The bad news was that we couldn’t stop ourselves from laughing. We had to leave shortly after the incident for fear someone might call Child Protective Services and relieve us of the duty for which we were clearly so poorly suited.

And you thought it was just me.

Laura Fulton