Times you should not talk to me:

- When I am in the bathroom getting a child dressed
- When I am late for work and putting on makeup in the bathroom
- When I am using the bathroom
- Okay, pretty much, if I’m anywhere near the bathroom, don’t talk to me.

Here’s a word I wish I didn’t know: “barndominium.” This word has been thrust into my vocubulary by my husband. We seem to be playing out a 2010 version of the 1960s sitcom “Green Acres.”

In the modern version, the husband drags the wife over to his computer to show her screen after screen of rural property for sale all over the state. Some of these properties have little houses on them. Some of them have mobile homes, and some have, you guessed it, barndominiums. A barndominium is a barn with an apartment built into it. Let’s just say this is not where I want to spend my golden years.

I have come up with a nice way of saying “Are you out of your mind?” I say, “But what about Zsa Zsa?” This response is also kinder than my previous one: “I’m sure your next wife will be very happy there.” (Side note: I have since learned that it was actually Eva Gabor, not Zsa Zsa, who starred in Green Acres, but I’m sticking with Zsa Zsa because it’s a much funnier name.)

I’m afraid we do not share the same vision of retirement. Bob sees himself endlessly puttering — in the chicken coop, in the garden, among the fruit trees. The gentleman farmer.

I see myself drinking red wine with old friends, writing, taking fun classes. I doubt they have yoga in Hooterville.

I picture myself at 70 in a pink feather boa, chugging chianti with Arnold the Pig.

“Arnold dahling,” I say, “It’s so dull here. I miss Park Avenue.”

Arnold just nods kindly and nuzzles me with his snout.

Thank God I’m not single. I’m a lousy date. I cannot eat spicy food, polish off half a bottle of wine and stay up past 10 p.m. Men are generally not attracted to someone who pops Gas-X pills at the table and falls asleep in the car on the way home. It takes a husband to extend you that much of a benefit of the doubt.

There’s not much to do on a date night around here except go out to eat. I have a great business idea for a budding entrepreneur in Sugar Land — a one-hour hotel geared for parents with young children. I’m sure there are one-hour hotels in Houston, probably along Telephone Road, but I’m not willing to take my life in my hands for a little nooky. It would all need to be legal, clean, safe and not embarrassing. I’m thinking of a wholesome, upscale kind of place like Lifetime Fitness. No gangstas, no pimps and especially no hoes. It could be called The Ultimate Date Night.

Of course there are regular hotel rooms you can rent, but it’s hard to get a babysitter who can stay all night. Plus, it’s expensive. The Ultimate Date Night would be more affordable, say $25 an hour. That’s the price of two deluxe dinners at our favorite Thai restaurant, the price of one at our favorite Italian place. You’d get a bed, a hot-tub and dessert brought to your room. You can pick up a big Mac on the way home.

I think this is the perfect business concept for these harried, time-strapped, money-crunched times. I’ve already got the marketing plan for it worked out in my head. The advertising campaign would be flyers plastered in daycares and sent home in backpacks, with coupons attached.

My bosses have been gone for two blissful days. By bosses I am not referring to the people who pay me. I am referring to the people who run me: Boy and Girl. They have been at Nana’s and Papa’s house since Monday, eating pancakes and lasagna and building forts in their living room. I can hear it in my parents’ voices that they are ready to bring them back. The question is, are we ready to take them?

Whenever Girl catches Bob and me kissing, she shouts “Romance time! Encore! Encore!” She thinks she is hilarious. Where she got this I have no idea.

Romance times are few and far between at our house. However, with the kids gone, we have not been spending the last two days kissing. We have been spending the last two days doing something far more romantic: we’ve been talking.

Usually we have to stiff-arm the kids to get a word in edgewise with each other. We have these reportorial conversations at dinner where we list all the crap that happened during the day, with very little color commentary around it at all. Just the facts, ma’am.

But in these last two days, we’ve actually been able to express thoughts and feelings to each other in more than quick sound bites. It’s been the best mental vacation we’ve had in a long long time. Bless you, Nana and Papa.

Romance Time comes to a screeching halt tonight. Ready or not, here they come!