I knew when I saw the worried look in my sister’s eyes at the thrift store that I had a problem. Perhaps once upon a time I might have had the same look for someone else before the disease struck. I mean, an armful of doilies and vintage sheets stacked up to the nose, trailing on the floor and fretting that I’d left any behind, I mean… it’s an illness, isn’t it?
I am a lover of doilies :: I am a doiliophile…. oh, the shame….
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