Z: I’ve been in Denmark for four days now, and I think I have a deep and true understanding of the Danish people.

She: Like how you think you understand women because you used to dress up like one?

Z: Exactly. I’ve learned to count to 10, I know the Danish word for bathroom, and I’ve eaten some Danish (FYI — they don’t call Danishes Danish over here. They made up some weird sounding Danish word for it instead. Weird, huh?). All of which is to say, I’m practically native at this point, and I think I’m uniquely qualified to share some truly revelatory sociological observations of the Danes.

She: I can’t wait.

Z: First off, they really dig Danish furniture. The whole place looks like Danica House had a massive going out of business sale.

She: No one in town remembers Danica House anymore. You have to say IKEA.

Z: That’s Swedish. Don’t confuse the two, ‘cause the Danes think the Swedes are all drunks, and the Swedes think the Danes are snobs.

She: Ah, like downtown versus Goleta. Do you like my understanding of international relations?

Z: Also, they have really weird words for everything. What could a store called Hudplejeklinikken possibly be selling? It’s like a whole other language.

She: Do I see the word “pie” in there? Maybe they’re selling Danish pie. Can you bring some home? I’m not always a fan of the pie, I generally prefer the cookie or the cake, but I’m willing to give Danish pie a chance, in the interest of international relations.

Z: Uh, actually I think it’s a skin-care place.

She: Oh. That might be good, too.

Z: Then again, some words are oddly familiar. Their word for bathroom is “toilet,” and they call the copy room the “kopirum.” Sometimes I’m not sure if Danish is really another language, or there was just some Dane 1,000 years ago who was a crappy speller.

She: So, tell me, is there really something rotten in the state of Denmark? I mean, other than their spelling.

Z: Another bizarre Danish thing is that the beds have these two, skinny, side-by-side blankets on them, like two halves of a whole blanket. I keep expecting Rock Hudson and Doris Day to jump out from underneath them.

She: Two skinny blankets? I can’t steal the covers from you in Denmark?

Z: No. They’re barely even wide enough to cover one person.

She: I’m not so sure I could go there now.

Z: Not to mention a major cultural deficiency: no right turns on red.

She: Even Woody Allen can do that in Manhattan, now.

Z: I know. I thought it was odd, too, until someone explained that it was so no one would accidentally hit a bicyclist.

She: In the snow?

Z: Yep. Gas is eight bucks a gallon here, so there are a ton of Danes who ride their bikes no matter what the weather. Besides, the snow plows clear the bike lanes first. Also, cars are hugely expensive. One guy told me a buddy of his bought a new Dodge Magnum for $160,000.

She: I hope you’re there to open a Dodge dealership.

Z: Too many Dodges would unbalance their natural automotive ecosystem. All the cars here are tiny, like someone cut a bunch of real cars in half. A bunch of Dodges would just come in and crush them all.

She: What are you doing there anyway? Every time you call, you’ve been out drinking beer. We have beer here, you know.

Z: All in all, I’m having a very good time, other than the nine-hour time difference, jet lag-induced hallucinations of what couldn’t possibly be Hans Christian Andersen castle drawings everywhere.

She: Are the people nice?

Z: Absolutely. Have I not mentioned that I think the Danes are great?

She: No. Please don’t do it …

Z: Yep, they are some great Danes.

She: Yes, dear.

For more information about travel to Denmark, e-mail leslie@lesliedinaberg.com.