Toward the end of last year I was notified that my health insurance premiums (just for me) were going up to $2000 a month. (Yes, you read that correctly). Soooo not doable for a starving author, or anyone else I know. My search began for an alternative.

After filling out eons of applications, I was declined by everyone for various reasons having nothing to do with "high risk." For instance, BCBS said no because I take blood pressure meds, which keep my BP completely under control. (Getting declined for such a ridiculous reason caused me stress, which I'm sure raised my BP for a moment or two.) Two other companies said no because I have reflux, and again, my one pill a day handles that. (Stress ups the ante on stomach acid, so rejection not good for that either.)  Aetna declined me because I have a cyst. After testing, my DOCTOR said the cyst is nothing, so why does Aetna make it reason enough to shun me?! So, not sick but not brave enough to do without insurance, yet can't afford to keep what I have and can't get accepted by anyone else.

Welcome to the "pre-existing condition" insurance nightmare. My experience leads me to conclude that if you previously existed, you are automatically declined.

With no place left to turn, I began to explore the Illinois Comprehensive Health Insurance Plan (iCHIP) for people in this predicament. Paperwork was a foot tall. When I sent off that final package (and thankfully I am at long last covered--with a $5200 deductible), you can surely understand how I desperately Needed an antidote to the health insurance nightmare that left me feeling black-and-blue. I needed something FUN.

As luck would have it (right?), shortly thereafter, I wandered down the hair stuff aisle in Walgreen's and there it was: colorful half-price FUN in a box. Only $6.59 plus tax. The smiling young thickly black-haired girl on the box looked so perky. She was clearly having FUN sporting her colorful fuchsia streaks, no "pre-existing conditions" dragging her down. Only one box left. MINE!

"George, what percent of my hair would you say is gray?"

"Mm," he says, barely glancing up from his newspaper, "I'd say about 25 percent."

"I'M IN!"

It didn't occur to me that most of that 25% is around my face, and that the product wasn't recommended for gray because the fuchsia turns pink on gray hair. (Who knew?) Also keep this in mind: I have never colored my own hair. Yes, I had that going-for-purple-but-got-smurf-blue episode last year, but I PAID someone to do that.  How much worse could I do on my own?! (Trick question, eh?)  So with utter calm (as in before a tornado) and without a plan, I mixed the concoctions and set about eyeballing where I thought the fuchsia bits should go, spontaneously adding "just one more right here" and "just one more right here."

Wow! Turns out that after each little twist of my thin fuchsia hair was released and dried, it took up way more real estate on my head than I'd imagined.

DAY ONE AFTER THE PROCEDURE: I'll need more eye shadow and bigger earrings to pull this off.

DAY THREE: I notice that "Minnesota nice" folks are breaking out in upper lip sweats trying to concentrate on not looking at my hair.

DAY FIVE: I'm thinking I have really outdone myself this time (and not in a good way), which is really saying something. I pull the hood up on my winter coat more often than usual.

DAY SIX: Young waitress at Perkins refills my iced tea. "I really like your hair!" she says with a sweet smile.

"Wow! Thanks!" See, Charlene! It's funkier and funner than you think! SNAP!

"Tell me," she says, leaning in toward me, "what color were you going for?" Her tone of voice is one of a young girl talking to an old lady. Imagine.

"This is the exact color on the box," I say, once again feeling deflated.

When I get home, I call my personal color consultant at the 800# on the box. She sounds somewhat surprised to learn I am 64. Turns out the product renders a permanent color, not semi-permanent like I assumed. Oh. I told her about another product I found in Walgreens called Color Oops. (I resisted my impulsive instinct to BUY IT NOW!) I told her I'd explored online chat rooms and people said it worked wonderfully-unless you were trying to remove the "brights", i.e. fuchsia. I asked her what she thought. She said they were correct and that the fuchsia might turn orange, along with my own dark hair.

Oh.

WEEK TWO: I ask a friend if the color seems to be getting brighter, and she says YES! Neither of us thought that humanly possible.

WEEK THREE: I've now spoken with three professional hair people (show, tell, cringe) who do not recommend I try to "do something" about "fixing it." They recommend I just let it grow out enough to cut it off. Thankfully, my hair was very short when the health insurance folks did this to me.

WEEK FIVE AND A HALF: A big burly stranger man in the Chicago area looks at my hair and asks me if I've been to a super bowl party. Huh? I don't recall fuchsia being on anyone's uniform!

WEEK SIX: I have two upcoming speaking engagements on the short horizon: a revered book club in the area; a healthcare retreat. I consider a crew cut. But might that be worse than fuchsia? Really tough call.

TODAY: Thank goodness for the Olympics! Seems pink and fuchsia are IN, at least with the young skiing athletes. But the better news is that I saw a mom (Shannon Bahrke's mom, Shannon in photo) also sporting her daughter's pink streaks. Charlene, just TwinkleGram about your head and move on. When your hair is long enough, cut it. In the mean time, pretend you are an Olympian's grandmother, wear the fuchsia earrings you found, which makes it look like your head has a plan.