Feb. 4 is our 29th wedding anniversary.

If you’ve ever met my husband, Seth, you know that 29 years is a really long time.

Traditionally, the 30th wedding anniversary is the pearl anniversary. And the modern gift idea for 30 years of wedded bliss is a diamond. I read that on the Internet. I hope it is true, because next year is looking pretty good either way, as long as I email that link to Seth.

But this isn’t the 30th. It’s the 29th. Are you supposed to acknowledge the pre-30th? It isn’t even mentioned on the “anniversary gifts by year” website.

I’ve been trying to figure out what to do. Last weekend I gave it a lot of thought — Saturday morning I wanted to discuss it with Seth. He likes to sleep in on the weekends. I don’t. So at 10 a.m. Saturday I shook him to wake him up, since staring at him wasn’t working.

He squinted at me through one eye. “What?” He moved his forearm off his head. I noticed he had the usual red, dented spot above his eye from the weight of his arm all night.

“It’s 10 o’clock. And, Seth, if you don’t stop sleeping like that your forehead is gonna freeze that way.”

“It only stays red a couple of hours. What do you want?” he asked hopefully. He rolled to his side.

“I was up late last night narrowing down the list of what to get you for our anniversary.”

He let out a deep breath (which I didn’t enjoy). “You don’t have to get me nothin’.”

He says that every year, and sometimes he gets his wish. But this year I was determined to get him a nice gift.

“I am not currently mad at you for anything in particular, other than the usual, so you have a unique opportunity here,” I reminded him.

He took a moment to reconsider the offer. “Fine. What are my choices?” he asked. He was still squinting, and seriously needed to brush his teeth.

“OK. First choice ... A new exercise video series, called Body Beast. In 90 days you will be a new man. No offense, but you are developing cleavage. I gotta tell ya, I am leaning in this direction.”

He groaned.

“OK then. Second choice ... how about a pair of those special shoes you want for your fallen arches? Ooooh ... I wonder if you would seem taller? And I would even throw some toothpaste in that deal.” I gave him a big enthusiastic smile.

His feet were not killing him in his current horizontal position, so the shoes didn’t seem so important at the moment. My first two ideas were obviously strikes.

But I had one more idea up my sleeve — the most expensive idea, so I had hoped I wouldn’t have to mention it. For our 29th year of marriage, I would offer him ... women.

 “Celtic Women are at the Murat in April. Maybe I could try to get tickets?”

Seth’s eyes opened a little wider, and he propped himself up on an elbow. “REALLY?”

We had a clear winner. I could get cheaper seats in the top and back — guilt free, since it would be out of consideration for other audience members. Because Seth might try to sing along. And the only respectable melodic sound he is capable of making is a booming baritone “oom papa mow mow.”

“What should I get you?” he asked, because he knew it was the right thing to say, especially if he wanted to see his beloved Celtic crooners.

I thought a few seconds. “A medal.”

Theresa Timmons’ column appears every first and third Sunday. She is an Elwood resident and can be reached at paperflinger40@yahoo.com.