Carol Perkins: Don't Make Me Go

Using guilt as the ultimate motivator, the author is able to get her reluctant spouse to attend functions he'd rather not go to.

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To read her next previous story click on Sally Was a Good Girl

By Carol Perkins

If I have learned one thing about Guy in our forty years, it is that he does not like what he does not like and he is not good at faking it. I had rather leave him at home than take him somewhere he doesn't want to go; however, there are times when going is the right thing to do.

Long ago, I learned that Guy was not going with me to a wedding unless one of the two involved was a relative. Not that I expected him to sit on the edge of the couch waiting to go, but I never expected him to whine about having to go. "Are you sure I have to go?"


"I'm sure."

"Who cares if I am there or not?"

"Ok, stay here. I am used to going places alone. Most people don't know I have a husband; they are so used to seeing me by myself." Guilt is a persuasive motivator.

Once he is at the wedding or reunion or graduation or anniversary party or wherever we are attending that he doesn't really want to attend, he may not enjoy being there, but he puts on a good show. Sometimes I think he slips and has a good time in spite of himself. Once back home, he will say, "That wasn't so bad after all."

Sometimes when "the chips are down" Guy does come through for me.

One year my good friend and co-worker Connie Scott and I bought season tickets to the Kentucky Center for the Performing Arts in Louisville.

We both love "Les Miserables" and have seen it several times. This particular performance happened to be when Mark, her husband, was in the hospital in Louisville and Connie, naturally, was not going to leave his side.

"You need to get someone to take my ticket." My problem was finding someone who would enjoy an operetta about the French Revolution. I knew Guy would accommodate me and he did. We went by to see Mark, and then on to the play.

As the orchestra began and the lights lowered, he shuffled in his seat. I held my breath because I knew there was no way he was going to appreciate this performance. As the singing began, he glanced at me several times as if to say, "What is this stuff?"

I didn't look at him. I hadn't told him there was no dialogue.

After the first thirty or forty minutes, he started shoving his hand into his pocket. The seats were so close, his elbow infringed on the patron next to him. The next thing I knew he pulled out a mint. Who would think that a mint could cause such a disturbance?

Unwrapping that mint without making a noise was impossible. With each twist of the clear wrapper, the noise magnified in the acoustically perfect theater. Instead of unwrapping it quickly, he worked with that mint during an entire song, trying not to draw attention to himself. I gave him looks but he was after that mint. By the time he stuck it to his lips, those beside, in front of and behind had given him the eye and cleared their throats more than once.

How could one mint make so much noise?

At intermission, he stood. "Well, that wasn't so bad," he lied.

"It is not over," I said suspecting that he thought it was.

"What do you mean it is not over?"

"It's intermission. Haven't you listened to anything going on?"

Who could understand this mumble jumble." He sat down deflated.

When the play was over, I knew what was coming.

"I'm glad you liked it and feel free to go to all the plays you want, but leave me out of it. I didn't understand anything from the beginning to the end."

That was his last play except at Barn Lot where he goes often, but because of those performing, not because of the plays.

There are many things we all do that we don't want to do. When we're young, we expect our spouses to go places with us. When we grow older, we're content leaving them at home. I think an ideal mix is a little of both

By the way, at the last play I attended , along with the normal announcements, the audience was directed to open all candy or mints before the performance began.

Perhaps they had heard of Guy.

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About the author: Carol (Sullivan) Perkins is a lifelong resident of Edmonton, KY, in Metcalfe County where she taught high school English at Metcalfe County High School until her recent retirement. She is a now a freelance writer. is married to Guy Perkins and they have two children: Carla Green (Mark) of Brentwood, TN and Jon Perkins (Beth) of Austin, TX and six grandchildren. Her latest book, Let's Talk About, is a collection of over 70 of her works, and she is presently working on the second book in this series. Carol's ties to Adair County go back to Breeding where her grandfather, Rufus Reece, and her grandmother Bettie Strange, began their married life and later moved to Metcalfe County. You may contact Carol at cperkins@scrtc.com or write at P.O. Box 134 Edmonton. If you would like a copy of her book, you can order through email. Watch for her next story next Sunday.

IF YOU'VE ENJOYED READING CAROL PERKINS' STORIES on ColumbiaMagazine.com, you'll love her book, "Let's Talk About It. . . ." The books are $15 plus $4 for shipping. Send check or cash or money order to Carol Perkins, P.O. Box 134, Edmonton, KY 42129 They can be bought at the Herald Office in Edmonton, KY, or Terri's Fine Jewelry in Glasgow, KY.

This story was posted on 2009-06-07 06:57:48

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