One Hundred

In Pilates, there is a little move known as the One Hundred. The One Hundred is deceptively simple, but it is a killer. The One Hundred requires you to hold (in proper form), your legs in the air, ribcage scooped and lifted, while pulsing your arms for a count of 100. This is not a fast count either.

It feels a natural count until 25 or so, and then it feels as if the instructor has switched to 78 rpm and you suppress the urge to scream, "Count faster, you sadist!".

Apparently, there is a One Hundred in the world of hair that causes more anguish that the Pilates One Hundred. It is the One Hundred Dollars that I forked over last night for highlights.

I have written often of my hair traumas, but I felt that I had struck gold with Luli at the mall hair salon. I stand by my conviction that Luli gives a good cut (better with a photo for clarity), but one glance around the salon should have given me an indication of what I would see when the foils came off. Every woman working the salon has chunky, funky zebra-style highlights that transport me back to the summer of 2000. Literally.

I have been Zebra-fied!

Believe me -- and pity me -- when I tell you that this photo does not do justice to the injustice.**

Those who have known for two decades will wonder what the fuss is. I had pink hair. I had a mohawk. I had platinum blonde. I had a shaved head. In short, I had more hair affairs and disasters than all of the Hair Bands of the 80s combined. So what is one more?

To paraphrase The Bard, Get thee to a color rinse!


**3:04 p.m. -- edited to add a better photo of the hair