Getting my first COVID shot has had a curious side-effect: a new appreciation for Bon Jovi.
Even though I have publicly declared my admiration for big hair, 80s stadium bands, unnecessarily earnest song lyrics and other over-theatrical antics in the name of entertainment, I've never been a massive Bon Jovi fan.
I prefer the faux romantic vibe of Spandau Ballet. Clearly, I like men in culottes, not tights (leather, Lycra or otherwise). True.
If you know an adult who is putting off the jab simply because "it hurts", maybe suggest that they pull on their big-person pants and stop embarrassing themselves in front of the real kids.
Stadium rockers also like a smoke machine. It's the perfect backdrop for a guitar or drum solo. There's nothing like a well-illuminated rock god acting-up a treat shrouded in smoke to distract you from other more-pressing dumpster fires.
I found myself humming a particular Bon Jovi tune about an hour after I got my first shot in the arm.
After the jab, and the required wait, I checked with the supervisor if I could go. She gave the nod and said I would be notified when the second shot was due.
"You're half way there," she said.
Naturally, I replied in song: "Whoahh! Livin' on a prayer".
Her eyes narrowed like she was weighing up if I was having a turn.
A few weeks later, I'm still humming Livin' on a Prayer, that rocking ode to young lovers Tommy and Gina who are down on their luck. But they know they have to hold on, even though it's "so tough, it's tough".
But is it tough for us? Not really.
In the lead-up to the great Australian vaccine rollout there appeared to be a lot of pandering to the big babies among us. I lost count of how many times a high-profile person got the jab, and then commented with a scripted: "Gee, that was quick. Golly, it didn't hurt a bit".
Who cares if it hurts? I guarantee that the minimal, transient pain from a jab or two is preferable to the unpleasant symptoms of a mutant virus infecting your body.
If I was Queen of Australia, I'd rule that any fully functioning adult who carried on while getting a jab should get a punch in the arm to see them on their way. I'd decree also that Nurse Ratched administer the injections. Too much?
In another weird display, I saw on the TV news an angry anti-vaxxer telling police (as she was being escorted from a Melbourne street) that she was "mask triggered". Triggered. I can't stand the term, so I'm going to say I'm deeply affected by (and unable to cope with) people who hide behind weasel words in order to indulge their narcissism.
If you know an adult who is putting off the jab simply because "it hurts", maybe suggest that they pull on their big-person pants and stop embarrassing themselves in front of the real kids.
While they are psyching themselves up for their second shot, they could hum along to this banging Bon Jovi earworm (with the odd lyric change). All together now . . .
We've got to hold on to what we've got/ It DOES make a difference if we GET it or not/ We've got each other and that's a lot for love . . . . We'll give it a shot.
Whoahhh!
