My friend Kelly would be proud of me -- or perhaps shocked at my insanity

In a rash moment of sympathy I once told Kelly I'd do anything I could to help her recover during a time in intense professional and marital difficulty and she tricked me.

Ok, she said, come and have your hair cut and colored with me. Kelly is in her 20s with lush carrot-red hair. Nothing those crazed radicals with scissors do to her really can ruin her. I, on the other hand, have children aging past their 20s and a head of thinning dull hair I prefer to tie behind my head and forget about. I don't like brushing it myself much less letting some teen-ager with a nose ring and green and purples spiked hair romp in it.

But today 10/28 I went to a frizera in Sarajevo for the works. Don't ask me why -- getting urged by youthful coworkers... my killer weaker for trying something new...similar difficulties Kelly faced a few years ago. I don't know. But I went in and said cut off all my hair, dye it chocolate and add red streaks.

Actually I didn't say it because my Bosnian sucks, but co-worker Svjetlana came with me to her hairdresser, did the interpreting and kept assuring me: "Bicu lijepa," It will be pretty.

The hours in this salon were a lot more relaxed than in Fort Lauderdale. The hairdresser took cigarette breaks and her boyfriend came in and took orders from her and customers for cevapci. All day there was Bosnian coffee and chocolate on the coffee table along with the usual books of hair styles on Jennifer Lopez, Angelina Joli and Christina Applegate.

I got a little nervous when just after mixing a pot of gloop and bleach and spreading it all over my head I felt a distinct burning and tingling of the scalp. Svjetlana assured me this was normal since it was my first time, which I didn't really believe. The second time I got nervous was when I saw the gloop that was supposed to make the red streaks. It was purple.

Bicu lijepa Svjetlana said.