STRANGER THAN FICTION: ENGAGEMENTS, TAXIDERMY, GIVING MARITAL ADVICE

Two longtime girlfriends of mine announced their engagements last weekend. A third eloped to Brewton, Ala., and married in a judge's office with a stuffed albino raccoon staring at her.

And I always thought my own wedding, performed outside the courthouse in downtown Cape Girardeau during happy hour, was the most trashy possible.

But no matter the locations or methods they choose, I'm happy my friends are finally tying the knot. A recent study revealed women are waiting longer to marry these days -- the average age for women is 26 now. I married at age 25 to a 24-year-old man, when we were still too young to realize how utterly stupid and mismatched we were.

That rendered us the only married couple in our circle of friends. Our single pals were good about including us in activities, but it wasn't the same anymore. My girlfriends weren't so eager to discuss the string of men winding through their lives, and I didn't want to reveal the multitude of marital difficulties I was experiencing for fear of discouraging them from wedlock.

If The Other Half and I had a dime for every time we threatened divorce in the first year, I wouldn't even bother writing this column. And misery loves company, as they say.

But nobody seems willing to commit these days. They say they love each other. They are together exclusively for years. Some even share a home.

No rings, however. Just a couple of people either afraid they'll scare the other off by mentioning something as pedestrian as marriage or else just happy to be "milking the cow," as Momma used to say.

By the way, girls, Momma was right. Men only want what they CAN'T HAVE.

It's a testosterone-related birth defect.

Some folks are utterly happy and satisfied in those types of relationships, and I say more power to them! But I think they're pretty darn selfish not to think about me and my desire for more married friends.

That's all about to change, however. The balance of power is shifting.

Last weekend, Scott took Stacy out to the beach to watch the sun set. By the time he spread out a blanket for the two of them, she knew what was coming. Apparently, he wasn't the sunset-on-the-beach type.

The wedding is set for September.

Danny popped the question to Jessica during a quiet evening at home. She asked him whether he was serious. Wrong answer, Jessica, but everything turned out OK. The wedding is set for November.

And then there was what will heretofore be known as The Taxidermy Wedding. Apparently, the albino raccoon had a few friends in that judge's office.

Unbeknownst to them, the last couple married on my fifth anniversary. And although five years of marriage doesn't qualify me as an expert, I believe I can offer all those folks a little advice.

The first year is hell. There is no such thing as a "honeymoon period" after the actual honeymoon. In fact, I nearly threw my wedding band into the Mississippi River at St. Louis during my honeymoon because The Other Half called my idea of going up inside the Arch "stupid." I told him I didn't appreciate having my ideas called stupid and wondered why I'd marry a man who felt that way about them. I then pulled off my wedding band and pulled back for a mighty throw until Mr. Half apologized and explained he was afraid of heights.

That pretty much set the tone for the first year.

But a wedding -- a legal, binding commitment -- is what makes you muddle through that first year. And maybe part of the second year. And then you grow up a little.

And by the fifth anniversary, you wonder how you could have ever fought about such dumb stuff with such a thoughtful, handsome, intelligent, generous, sympathetic, perfect man.

Heidi Hall is a former Southeast Missourian staff writer now living in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. Contact her at newsduo@herald.infi.net.