The Violet Menace

Story Sent in by Lorretta:

I was in a mostly purple outfit when John took me out to dinner. It seemed like a normal date with a possibility for a second one until about halfway through the meal. We had just finished a talk about family when John asked, "Why purple?"

I said, "I like purple," then pointed to his blue shirt and asked, "Do you like blue?"

He said, "Purple always reminds me of my grandmother's feet. They turned bright purple before she died. Then she died."

He looked at me for some sort of reaction. I said, "I'm sorry she passed away."

A moment later he studied the backs of his hands intently, like he was looking for something. I asked, "Everything all right?"

He replied, "Just making sure my hands are skin-colored. If they were purple, I'd be in big trouble. Like my dead grandmother."

"They look fine to me," I said.

When the waiter came over to take our plates, John held up his hands and asked him, "Do my hands look at all purple to you?"

The waiter said, "They don't. They look like regular hands."

After the waiter left, John said, "My grandmother's feet looked like regular feet before they turned purple. Now I'm all worried."

He acted nervous for the rest of our short time together. Any chances he had for a second date receded pretty rapidly. I felt pretty bad for him, but he was still behaving too oddly for me to go out with him again.

The date ended and he didn't contact me again until about a week had passed. But it wasn't to ask me out again or even see how I was. He said, "Just wanted to let you know that my feet and hands are still okay. In case you were worried."

It wasn't his extremities about which I was worried, but I guess it doesn't matter anymore.