Last night, as my wife and I tuned into the latest episode of “Ellen,” a
loud screeching noise emerged from her (my wife’s) mouth following the
announcement that Jon Bon Jovi was a guest on the show. Upstairs, a similar cry indicated that my son
had reached a new level on the “Assassins Creed” game; I remained still,
sandwiched between two fanatics and their over obsessive affections.
During our courting years, it emerged that my wife suffered from a bizarre
medical condition, and also felt compelled to outline one of her prerequisites
to maintaining a healthy relationship.
Imitation jewellery could prompt a wild allergic reaction (in the form
of a skin rash) throughout her entire body – only real jewels would suffice.
And, if Jon Bon Jovi happened to include South Africa in an international tour,
I would have to arrange front-row-tickets.
A romantic proposal at the local Chinese restaurant – sealed by an
authentic blue-white diamond and pure gold wedding ring, reassured my wife that
her medical needs were both heartfelt and acknowledged by her considerate
prince. And when it was proclaimed that Bon
Jovi would be performing at the Johannesburg Stadium as part of their “Livin'
on a Prayer” world tour, it was expected that I would be camped outside the box
office securing our front-row-tickets to satisfy her obsession.
My resistance to sleeping on the floor on a public pavement and failure
to secure prime seats, did not impress my then fiancé who reminded me on the
night of the show that the aisle was certainly “not ideal” for a Bon Jovi fan.
But the opening act mended the mood, and admittedly, we were both
equally hyped up for the spectacle.
The moment of truth had finally arrived; lights were dimmed, a mass of
smoke overpowered the stage, the anticipation of the crowd waving their
luminous bands in an organised, yet unsynchronised chaos. And then, a familiar intro exploded towards
us, emanating from the speakers… The
crowd began to cheer as one-by-one the band members took to the stage,
positioning themselves behind their musical instruments; Jon Bon Jovi was
nowhere in sight.
Suddenly, the stadium reverted to complete darkness until one spotlight,
beamed its attention towards us. Jon Bon
Jovi appeared, standing next to my wife, reaching his hand out to hers – working
his way down the aisle, through the crowds and onto the stage.
“He touched my hand! He touched
my hand!”
Needless to say, the evening was a success, with my wife boasting that
Jon Bon Jovi was the only man who, through his own music, could understand her,
reach out to her, speak to her…
As we continued to watch the “Ellen” show, I noticed my wife stretching
her hand out, trying to recapture the moment when Jon Bon Jovi touched her
hand. I chose not to comment as my
sarcasm would dampen her spirits, and initiate an argument on how Jon Bon Jovi is
more compassionate and understanding than me.
But it was my silence that sparked off a discussion on how ignorant and
jealous a man I had become. My failure
to comment suggested intolerance to all Jon Bon Jovi fans – please forgive my thoughtlessness.
I always
wondered, do opposites really attract?
Perhaps they do, but it wouldn’t hurt if they shared the same enthusiasm
for Bon Jovi.
Weight
for me tomorrow. Paul
Paul Lambis is the author of “Where is Home?” – A journey of hilarious contrasts.
For more information on Paul Lambis, and to order his book online,
visit www.paul-lambis.com
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