There is a lovely crocheted doily sitting on the kitchen table. I think it's one that my partner made a number of years ago, and I think she got it out to show it to somebody.
I cannot see a crocheted doily (or a knitted or tatted one either, for that matter) without thinking of the two upholstered easy chairs in my grandparents' living room. They were different in design but made to look similar by being covered with identical form-fitting fabric covers my grandmother had made for them.
The other thing they had in common was that they were always adorned with crocheted doilies, a long skinny one over each arm and a large one on the back flowing down to where your head would rest if you leaned back. They were held in place by straight pins which tended to work themselves loose. What I will never forget about sitting in those chairs was how often my elbow got scratched or I was stabbed in the back of the neck.
The doilies were pretty, though.
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