About two blocks from the Royal Palace, I walked past a shop displaying stunning, luxurious and lush linens. They were all laid out on tiny little beds. The first thing I asked when I entered the shop -- “Do you have sheets for adult beds, too?” “These ARE adult beds.” Oh. Well, what was I thinking? I knew this. There is this bed size I've encountered in my European travels that is slightly wider than a cot, but smaller than a twin. In fact, that was what I slept in during those three months in Italy in 2001. This is the size I saw in this shop.

Oh these linens. It was love at first sight. At first touch. This was it. I'd found the bedsheets of my dreams.

I shan't get into the minutia of cost, except to say the owner of the shop described the choices as "Ford" "Cadillac" or "Ferrari." To put it into perspective, the Ferrari class priced out somewhere around 4-thousand American dollars. Not kidding. I passed on the Ferrari and went the Cadillac route. I placed my order and was told their workshop would custom make my linens to American specifications. Then, they explained, my order would be shipped three weeks later. Shipped. Important distinction.

I waited. Waited. Waited some more. After about two months, I allowed as how something had gone wrong, and jotted off a quick e-mail. “Where are my linens?” In my romantic view, I figured what really happened was that they were too busy making the bedsheets for the Danish Prince and his expectant bride who lived just blocks away, to be working on mine.

Blah blah this. Blah blah that. There was a mistake in the factory. They ran out of fabric for my order just as they got to the end of the bolt of Egyptian cotton. Apparently, they had to go back to the farms outside of Cairo and pick those bolls again. I'm kidding. Maybe. I don't know. Anyway, after consulting Rumpelstiltskin, they apparently acquired more fabric.

Several days later they contacted me to say they'd made a mistake on the size of the duvet cover and could send me a partial order. I told them I would rather wait for the entire shipment, which by this time I'd pretty much given up on. On top of it -- I will admit -- I'd lost my receipt. It would seem I am more conscientious about my New Yorker subscription than I am about my extravagant international purchase of these Danish linens. At this point, kicking myself was out of the question -- I was stuck.

Finally, the call came, a little over three months after I'd placed my order. “We have shipped your linens.” Tic Toc. Tic Toc. Two weeks pass, I write and ask for the tracking number. They e-mail me a number from the Danish Postal service. Post? As in Post Office?? You have MAILED my linens? As in, the United States Postal service? I made an overseas phonecall and explained that had they made clear to me that shipping meant mailing to them -- I'd have passed on that option and insisted they use a shipping company. The USPS, I demurred, is nothing like the Danish Postal service. At that point, I had NO way to track the package. They were shocked. Of course, not nearly as much as me!! Well, they said, if they don't arrive, they are insured. We will just reimburse you. Please. I do not want my money. I want my damn linens.

Of course, the end of the story is obvious, as you can tell by the picture. This is what the box looked like when it finally arrived, four months later. It was squished to about half its size, every seam in the box was ripped open, it had been taped, retaped, and taped again. It even had United States postal worker obscene graffiti on it. When I opened it, with order in hand, I went through the items. They had thrown in some extra towels (as yummy as the linens) to make up for my wait. There was, however, a pillowcase missing. When I called to ask about it, they assured me they would send it post haste, which they did. I took the opportunity to explain that there is a reason why, in America, we have the expression "Going Postal."

Was it worth it? Oh my God!!! I cannot even begin to explain what a night of sleep has now become. The linens are soft beyond soft. When I crawl into bed and furl out the comforter, the down floats around my body, creating a cushion of air and tenderness between the fabric and the flesh. The experience is so phenomenal that the linens have now become a regular subject of my dreams. It is not enough they permeate my waking moments, they fill my every sleeping heartbeat. Giving true definition to the phrase: Sweet Dreams.