I do not know why I have had a purple skirt made, I do not like purple. I have no fierce objection to the color, but I do not want to wear it either. There are people, I am well aware of it, who swoon over purple—but that is such a ridiculous thing to say! No one swoons anymore! Perhaps once they did, if fiction is to be believed, but as a species we have moved away from swooning—I am fairly certain of this, I am fairly certain that people no longer swoon, except maybe occassionally in theaters where operations are performed or upon the sight of blood, for some. I do not find blood sickening, and I am very responsive to the color red, I do not know why I did not have a red skirt made instead of a purple one, I really do not know the answer to that. I will tell you this, however, and it is possible the answer lies inside of what I am about to tell you, which is this: I think it was falltime when I chose the fabric for the skirt I had made which was to be a summer skirt. Do you see what I am driving at? We cannot make decisions for our future selves! But that is no kind of answer, it is only an observation, which tells me we cannot predict outcomes very well either.