It was mid-morning when the school sent text messages to all the mums.
I say mums, but ours actually came to DH, as the teachers still seem to think he’s a better bet.
The first words, “The Civil Defence has advised…” were carefully chosen to make sure we sat up and took notice.
“…that students should go home due to the possibility of fumes coming from a fire in the industrial area.”
Of course, this unscheduled evacuation sparked a flurry of text messages and phone calls among the mums – to spread the word that any afternoon plans were toast.
“Have you heard?”
“The kids are coming home!”
“I was planning on an 11am Ashtanga yoga class, followed by a gellish manicure and a triple berry smoothie at the Lime Tree Cafe,” I imagined inconvenienced mums saying. “And the nanny insists on resting in the afternoon, I might actually have to take the kids to Magic Planet.”
My work plans thwarted yet again, we headed out when BB got home – and were plunged straight into our second excitement of the day.
While driving along, the 4WD was suddenly engulfed in a billowing sand storm. One minute the sky was clear and blue, the next minute a yellowish mist had descended, the wind was gusting and there was sand swirling everywhere. Visibility quickly reduced to about an arm’s length.
I was having visions of being swallowed up by the desert, while innocently on our way to watch Horrid Henry. I could see the headline in my mind, ‘Expats vanish in Barsha triangle’
Either that, or we’d get into an accident on the road, which you could hardly see through the thick, fog-like dust.
Thankfully, DH was at the wheel, and noticing that I was clutching my seat, he smiled and said kindly, “Don’t worry, the visibility is at least 50 metres – still legal for landing an airplane.”
Which is precisely why he’s in the right job, while I – my eyes nearly closed by this point – could never do it in a million years.