I spent the winter of 1986/1987 listening to Bon Jovi’s “Slippery When Wet” on a pink, off-brand Walkman. I actually bought the record, but I made a tape so I could listen on the go, which I did. A lot.
That year I sulked my way through the holidays at various aunt & uncles houses filled with other aunts, uncles, and innumerable cousins (I have 20 first cousins on my dad’s side) listening to “Slippery When Wet” as loud as my ears could take it.
At one point my cousin Andre, or maybe Jeff? Bobby? One of the male cousins asked me why I was always listening to such loud punk rock music all the time. Yes, feel free to laugh. None of us had any idea what punk rock music was in 1987.
I can’t remember which cousin asked me about the music, but I’m 99% sure I quoted the poetry of Jon Bob Jovi without a hint of irony or sarcasm.
Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear. Woah, livin’ on a prayer.
For the record, the cousin didn’t laugh in my face though he should have. He just shook his head like I was some kind of dingdong, which I was.