A fate worse than death
Mar 25, 2021
4 minutes
Vicky Piggin, 36, Leicester
Spanish music blared from the speakers as my husband Dale, then 36, sauntered over. It was July 2014 and we were baking in 35C heat in Tenerife.
I’d sent Dale to the bar to get me and our son Callum, then 10, a cold drink while we lounged by the hotel pool.
But, almost in time to the music, Dale’s arms suddenly started jerking.
‘Dad’s doing the Macarena!’ Callum laughed.
‘Oops!’ Dale grimaced as he lurched towards us, our drinks spilling everywhere.
‘I can’t take you anywhere,’ I teased.
Poor Dale, he was so clumsy.
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