STRANGER THAN FICTION: MARRIAGE FORCES WIFE INTO ROLE OF 'OLDER WOMAN'

The Other Half is having his hair colored this morning. He's thinking auburn with some dramatic blond streaks.

This comes after some self-inflicted hair color -- basically using hydrogen peroxide, lemon juice and sunlight to lighten his close-cropped 'do. He read about it in his Men's Health magazine. The article suggested it would turn his hair blond. It went orange instead. Bright orange. Just like my hair, only overprocessed due to the drying effect of the chemicals.

Men's Health is also where he learned about the best abdominal exercises to develop that enviable six-pack and about the best way to ward off baldness. (Rogaine, apparently.)

In short, at age 30, Mr. Half is trying to recapture his youth. Or maybe he's trying to have the youth made impossible due to being raised in the Greater Bertrand, Mo., Metropolitan Region by a family-values Republican.

Either way, it's the opposite of what I'm trying to do.

At age 31, I've recognized I'll never be Britney Spears. The best I can hope for at this point is to shed an amount of weight equivalent to the body mass of Britney Spears. I recently bought sensible shoes at a major discount department store.

And, after the initial shock of realizing my 20s were gone forever, I'm enjoying gaining a little more maturity and the insight that comes with aging.

For example, I now realize the housemates on "The Real World" are complete and total idiots. Nobody put up in a gorgeous New York townhouse, supported by a mega-corporation and given enough money for nightly outings to bars and restaurants, should be whining about anything.

And the stupid things they whine about!

"I really liked Kevin, but he doesn't like me. And now I think his neck is too skinny."

"Mike made a stupid comment over breakfast."

"Let's face it, Lori, none of the boys like us. What is wrong with us?"

I can't stop watching it because I'm completely fascinated. And, I have to admit, I had a lot more drama in my life at 20 than I did a decade later. I guess that's why they don't put a bunch of middle-aged executives in a New York townhouse and record their lives for several weeks. Imagine the scintillating dialogue.

Roommate: Well, Heidi, what are you doing today?

Heidi: I'm having a pre-operative appointment about my deviated septum.

Roommate: I'm glad to hear it. You really snore quite a bit. Well, I'm off for another day at the office.

Heidi: What do you have planned?

Roommate: Well, first I'm doing several cost estimates, having a sandwich in the park, and then doing several more cost estimates.

Heidi: Fun!

But Mr. Half would probably do quite nicely with that group. He'd be the clean one always riding the others about their unmade beds and sloppy closets.

I realized just how different we had become when The Other Half made friends with a 20-year-old part-time coworker/college student.

When the two of them are together, Mr. Half drops 10 years. He says stuff like "mad props" and "playa hater."

The student is very nice looking. If I were a decade younger, I'd definitely be giving a second look.

Instead, I find I really enjoy talking to his mother. We ran into each other at the grocery store last month and discussed child rearing, potato salad vs. cole slaw, church attendance, night work and a variety of other very adult subjects.

So what does this mean for my marriage?

I don't know. I guess my only hope is for him to start liking older women.

Heidi Hall is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.