Bon Jovi live!

 I think I may have lost Mrs Ed.  Not that this would normally present a problem.  In fact if the truth be told I have tried to lose her a number of times in our long life (sentence) together.

  There was the day that I accidentally drove off when she had stepped out the car in the Karoo to get a closer look at a vintage tractor.  She was fuming by the time I got back to her six hours later, so I omitted to tell her that it was only on the advice of an old barman that I had returned.  I remember his words as if it was last week (when really it was the week before!)

 “Stranger,” he had murmured, carefully scrutinizing the bottom of the glass he was busy polishing, “We have a saying around these parts.” He turned to skillfully spit a wad of chewing tobacco out of the weathered sash window onto the dusty road outside, and gaze soulfully as the sun cast its farewell glow on the Outshoorn horizon  (actually he didn't but it makes for a much better story, doesn't it?) “When it comes to buying beer,” he continued, his voice echoing years of hard toil on the range, “You gots ta pay first, before ya starts a-drinkin'!” 

That's when I realized, of course, that Mrs Ed had the wallet. 

Then there was another time when I almost lost her and the kids at Sun City, but in the end the cashier said that despite my assurances that they would be 'useful to have around' it would be somewhat against the ethics of the South African Institute of Casinos to exchange my family for gambling chips and that if I didn't get out of his face he would initiate a lifetime black-jack ban on me.

But this time is different.  This time I've lost Mrs Ed in mind, not body.  This time I have lost Mrs Ed to….. (I almost can't bear to say it) to Bon Jovi!

I should have been forewarned.  I should have seen the signs.  But somehow I missed it!  You see I have always had Mrs Ed pegged as 100% loyal to ‘Village People’, and truly believed she would never stray from her self-proclaimed position as that band's No1 Fan (I don't even know if there IS a No2)  even if they did split up sometime in the eighties.

So when friends of ours generously offered us tickets to see Bon Jovi live in Cape Town last week, I thought it was a great idea.  Indeed I was most excited  it had been years since we had been to see an international rock band (I had kind of held back since the embarrassment of the Katie Melua incident.  Though the restraining order has long since expired, my re-acceptance into her fan club is still pending) .  To be honest when I told Mrs Ed of our good fortune, and her eyes misted over with that far-away look, I just presumed she'd been holding the bleach bottle too close to her nose again….

There were five of us in the car on the way down, and as I was fortunate enough to be in the front passenger seat (it was the closest they'd let me get to the steering wheel ) I took charge of the music selection.  Thinking the five hour journey would be the perfect time to learn all his songs (standing at a live concert mouthing 'rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb' is somewhat embarrassing)  I popped a Bon J CD into the car's sound system. 
“Right folks, listen carefully and please do concentrate on the words,” I advised, as Bon himself lyrically informed us that our love was indeed like bad medicine, and that bad medicine was, thankfully, just what he needed.

Then suddenly a spine chilling cacophony of Neanderthal  noise erupted from the back of the car.  My first thought was that Nelson Mandela must have passed away and thus twenty seven Zulus were sprinting alongside our vehicle in full war cry, ready to cut off our heads with serrated traditional spears, but then I turned around to find it was something entirely different, though equally horrifying.  It was Mrs Ed in full song!

And she knew all the words.  I couldn't believe it. “Wha…. ? Bu…. ? How di…..?” I tried to get answers as to how she had managed this, but I was drowned out. 

Fortunately for them, the other two ladies in the back seat were volleying out their own vocal rendition at an equally high volume, so it seemed that their ears were unperturbed by Mrs Ed's violent audio attack on Mother Earth .

On we went, with all three women in full voice.  I was particularly impressed with our driver, who managed to cover most of the distance steering with his elbows so that he could keep his fingers firmly in his ears.  Fortunately the traffic wasn't too bad, somehow any vehicles that came within a 50 metre radius seemed to swerve off to either side of the road….  It really was an effective way to beat Cape Town's rush hour traffic.

Once we were in the stadium things took a turn for the worse. We were standing about 30 metres away from the stage, which I thought was quite an achievement considering we probably lost our status as 'hard rocking' concert revellers at least a quarter of a century ago.  But when the Bon man appeared in a cloud of smoke, betwixt a crash of symbols, a thunder of base and some pretty impressive guitar work, the crowd surged forward, probably because of the vacuum Mrs Ed left in her trail as she pushed her way closer to the front like a woman possessed.

“LAY ME DOWN ON A BED OF ROSES, JOHN BON,” she wailed at such a volume I saw the lead guitarist turn up his amplifier.  Of course I hung helplessly to her shirt tails.  The last thing I wanted was for us to be separated as this was sure to cause no end of trauma (she once again had the wallet, and thus any beer purchase would be impossible without her).  Closer and closer we got to the front, Mrs Ed's elbows and knees making short work of anyone in our path (fortunately no physical proof that she was responsible for the biting incident has since come to the fore) .

Eventually we were about eight metres from the 'protective perimeter'  - a metal fence just short of the stage - and even with Mrs Ed's brute strength we could not get any closer, such was the density of the mass of people. After using her handbag (not sure what she had in it, but have I ever been?) to collapse the legs of a misfortunately tall gentleman in front of us, my star-struck spouse settled down to a wild frenzy.  The rest of our group had followed in our wake and so were able to join us, and I must say, a good time was had by all.  ESPECIALLY Mrs Ed.

The driver and I agreed that Bon Jovi and his group were spectacular to watch, and one day we hope to go to a performance without having to wear earplugs sans Mrs Ed, of course.  But this may be quite an easy feat actually, because since the concert I've barely been able to communicate at all with the woman.  She may be there physically, but her mind is definitely elsewhere. Lying on the couch, day in, day out, with her Bon Jovi scarf clutched to her bosom, a half smile on her face and a wistful look in her eye.

 At one stage I tried shock treatment on her by walking into the lounge in my speedo and suggesting we go for a swim.  At first I thought I had managed to break through her mesmerization, when she turned to me and bellowed “You give love a bad name!” but then I realised  she was wearing her ipod headphones and singing along  to Bon Jovi's greatest hits.

I have never been the jealous sort, at all, but I wish she'd snap out of this childish infatuation and come back to me.  I am her husband, after all, and if you consider the even worse news that she STILL has the wallet….. you would understand….