NOV. 7 -- Yesterday was our wedding anniversary, an annual event since 1976, when a happy bride and nervous groom took vows at a church not far from the Atlantic Ocean in Jamestown, R.I. A couple hundred witnesses were for the proceedings, and to cash in on the happy hour and roast beef.

If I had to do it all over again, I would, although I would skip the playing of Joy to the World (the ditty about a wine-imbibing bullfrog …) at the reception. I’m still haunted by the memory of certain uncles and aunts dancing like inebriated zombies. The tune was de rigueur at weddings until The Electric Slide came along and changed everything.

I’d go for an edgy first dance, something to amaze and confuse the crowd. Eve of Destruction is one apocalyptic possibility from our era. It was wasn’t much of a dance tune, but I’m not much of a dancer.

All these years later, I am pleased to report, we are as married as ever. Although this is a violation of every cultural trend, we are nonseparated and undivorced.

In fact, we have settled into a midlife state of companionship so agreeable that we sometimes wonder if we are delusional. We are not Jon and Kate, Brad and Jennifer, or Britney and whomever. We have a comfort marriage; we are as reliable as macaroni and cheese.

Raising children cemented our bond; we had to form a united front against them. Although we enjoyed those years as much as any parents, when it was done and the nest emptied, we exhaled in unison and breathed in the quiet. We had found our bliss.

I suppose I should offer some marriage tips, since we appear to still be an item after all these years. Ours happens to be a relationship with traditional gender roles, but I support universal happiness, so feel free to adapt.

Never go to bed angry, especially with a loaded weapon. Everything else relies on this.

Husbands, help with the housework. I have a friend who said he was granted exclusivity regarding throw-up and excrement. It’s OK to be a specialist, as long as overall you do your share.

Somewhere along the line, husbands, stop and ask directions, just to let her know you can. Men sent satellites into space and invented GPS at a cost of trillions just so they can mostly avoid this act, but it’s still occasionally necessary to soothe an anxious spouse.

If you don’t overdo it, judicious use of the phrase “yes, dear” can work wonders. Isn’t that right, dear? Men might be tempted to say yes, dear in a nasally voice to be funny, but there is a lifetime limit on this joke, and you might reach it. I have.

Praise your partner in front of other people (and in front of your partner). This is public relations 101.

Treat your partner as you would treat yourself, if you didn’t have all your tics and neuroses. In other words, treat your partner better than you treat yourself.

Wives, accept your husband’s quirks. Men, like cats, need time to switch off their brains. They can be both alive and brain dead at the same time. That’s why God invented TV football, and wood shops.

Women have quirks, too, but no one but Oprah can explain them.

I have found that it is useless to resist my wife’s primal urge to move furniture around. Eventually things will be back where they started. Accept that.

Women take the toilet seat issue very seriously, more seriously than men. Just think of it as a test, like a test of the national emergency broadcast system. It needs to be done, that’s all. Put the seat back down.

One actual secret of happy marriage might be as simple as can be. Dede has no mean streak; she has taught me the value of treating another person with kindness, constant kindness. After, say, 30 years or so, this starts to sink in.

Years ago it was said that couples should be brutally honest and share their anger and disappointments and black moods and all the rest. Then, you said, presumably, “but I love you.” To me, that’s a mixed message, like hugging your partner and kicking her in the shins.

I say, Don’t Do It. Let your spouse see your Sunday best version of yourself. Eventually, you might become that person. Along the same lines: many of the flaws in your relationship might be your own. Work on those first.

Try a secret three- or seven-day love offensive: unexpected hugs, praises, flowers, helpful acts, etc. Usually men expect this to “pay off” in 15 minutes or so, but work the whole program. Hold your horses, or whatever.

Humor helps, too. In late midlife, if you are lucky, you can start to laugh at yourself, and your selves. You lose reading glasses; it takes longer to remember the names of people you used to know; you get out of the car on trips stiff as creatures from Dawn of the Dead.

Face facts: In the long run, you are both in the same aging lifeboat, and it will surely spring leaks. Grab a bucket and bail, and splash some water at your loved one. Laugh when you get splashed in return. All is fair in war, and love.

The writer lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.