STRANGER THAN FICTION: SIX YEARS OF WEDDED BLISS. OK, FIVE.

Just about any family-style restaurant will force its waiters and waitresses to gather around your table and sing "Happy Birthday" while delivering a free piece of cake, causing you to smile graciously while deciding whether to strangle your relatives personally or hire a hit man.

If you think about it, you're being rewarded for turning a year older, an effortless process for most people.

Everyone knows that it's WAY harder to stay married another year than to age, but just try to get a song and a free dessert for your wedding anniversary.

Ain't happenin'.

The Other Half and I celebrated our sixth wedding anniversary Saturday. He wrote little love notes and left them all over the house.

Which made the $2 Mylar balloon I bought at the grocery store seem a little sad.

A friend caught me buying it.

"Happy anniversary!" she said. "How long have you been married?"

I told her I'd had six years of wedded bliss.

She looked confused. "I thought you told me your first year of marriage was hell. So wouldn't that be five years of wedded bliss? Or fewer?"

Ouch. I guess I HAVE told a few people about my first year of marriage. Especially single people.

It's my duty to correct a common misconception about the first year of marriage, foolishly called "the honeymoon."

Couples aren't completely themselves when they're dating. And that's even if they're living together, which I don't recommend. It's too much like playing house. When you get bored, you take your stuff and go home.

Marriage is a whole different ballgame. You aren't getting out of it without a lengthy legal entanglement. So best you work out whatever problems you're having.

Frankly, if I had a dime for every time Mr. Half and I threatened to divorce each other during our first year of marriage, I wouldn't be writing this column. I'd be asking Miguel to bring me another pina colada and my suntan lotion, please.

I almost threw my wedding band in the Mississippi River on our low-budget honeymoon in St. Louis.

We fought every day. Sometimes it was about money. Sometimes it was about whoopie. Sometimes it was about working so hard to make money there wasn't any time for whoopie.

Not that I didn't try to make it work. Even before the wedding, I asked all my successfully married friends their secrets.

My mother-in-law, married 31 years this month, looked confused at the time. "What do you mean, you want my advice on marriage?" she asked.

I tried to get her started. "You know. Like don't go to bed angry' or something like that."

She laughed. "Honey, if I'd never gone to bed angry, I would be one sleep-deprived woman!"

I've remembered her advice many times since.

Things got better in the second year. And even better the year after that.

These days, I don't even like to argue with Mr. Half. I'm much more likely to say, "Let's not fight. I don't want you to be mad. I'm sorry."

When we do fight, it's about something dumb. Mr. Half took the other driver's side in a minor road-rage incident last week when I CLEARLY was in the right.

But who cares.

I love him. When I see happy older couples, I like to think that will be us some day.

And I want my damn cake.

Heidi Hall is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.