Time is Money

As a woman who claims New York as her birthright, I know one thing to be as certain as death and taxes: Time is money. And that, my friends, is my credo. Given this, I ask you, why hasn’t anyone figured out how to color a woman’s hair in 30 minutes or less? Why oh why must it take forever??? And by forever, I mean two hours, which is a lifetime by New York standards.

Is this gorgeous red all Lucy's? Hardly, but who cares, when you're among friends--and fans?

Now, I’m not sure what is meant, exactly, by the expression, “Time is money,” or who actually said it first, but I assume it was said by someone in a rush to get to Wall Street and meet with their broker before the stock market closed, in order to sell before the price of their shares plummeted. Don’t know if they ever made it, but either way, for them, time was, indeed, money.

Well, I may not be on my way to Wall Street, but for me, time is always money. For, I am constantly in a rush and never have a moment to spare. Which is why I always dread when, every two months, I go and get my hair done. And by done, I mean, colored. Dyed. Grays be gone and all that.

Yes, I am of that age (don’t be rude and ask me what age) that if I don’t do this, I’ll look, well, ancient.  Something I’m not keen on, though come to think of it, I’m not keen on Botox, plastic surgery or tucks of any nature, thank you very much. It ain’t natural, but coloring my hair is perfectly natural. After all, women have been doing it for centuries, and that’s good enough for me. Do you think Lucille Ball was a naturally-endowed redhead? Don’t get me wrong, I loved Lucy, but the answer is no. Do you think Lady Godiva had long, golden locks thanks to Mother Nature? No siree, Bob! She had help from a little box of Clairol #323 or whatever they used in the Dark Ages.

So here I am, getting my bimonthly fix of special effects low lights, highlights—the works. I need it all. Two solid hours of having my hair stylist work her magic while I sit anxiously counting the minutes until I can leave. If there was a way to drop off my hair and pick it up later, I would, because if there’s one thing New Yorkers despise, it’s sitting around doing nothing.

Nothing, except contemplating what a time waster this really is, and how I have a pile of things to do waiting for me at home. Plus, I’m pretty sure Henry, my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, who also happens to moonlight as my social secretary (though he’s yet to acknowledge that I’ve appointed him to this post) is not lifting a paw to help. As far as I can tell, he’s not doing anything but lounging around at home.  Each time I return home—whether from work or running errands–I expect to see progress made on the to-do list I’ve given him. But all I see is one very cavalier pet, taking a nap. Grrrr. Someone has the life of Riley and it ain’t me. Talk about wasting time.

And speaking of time wasters, I have a bone to pick with this salon:

Salon, please find another way to answer the phone. When I call to make an appointment, all I really want to do is schedule my next visit. I don’t want to listen to your greeting ad nauseam. So, I don’t need to hear this:

“It’s an absolutely great day at Carmel Very Chique Hair Salon & Spa. This is Willow speaking. How may I help you today?”

Salon, I know it would be rude of me to cut Willow off, but trust me, it’s getting hard to resist. So, give it a rest. Today’s not a great day, and her cheerfully exuberant voice won’t make me feel any different.

Fortunately for you, Salon, this is a battle I’m not willing to take on because, if you ask me, I simply do not have the time.

So, is it just me, or are there any time wasters in your life?