Dear Grand Hotel in Stockholm, Sweden,
Good morning. It is with great sadness that I write to you today, as I am not in your hotel room anymore. I am a few thousand miles away, too far for room service to deliver.
I woke up this morning at about 4 a.m., which is 10 a.m. your time, and my first thought was about your croissants. The croissants you serve have become a piece of my soul, with their flaky-yet-moist layers of puff pastry baked to buttery golden perfection. Both "flaky" and "moist" at the same time, how do you do this? The only explanation is magic. I am certain you serve magic croissants in your restaurant.
I lodged in your hotel during a press junket in Sweden, with a group of gay journalists and travel agents invited to see all the marvelous attractions your country has to offer. My apartment is now clutteredm with piles of pamphlets, scribbled notes and mementos from all the different places we visited, and I cannot even begin to sort through the chaos. Dogsledding! Shopping for fabulous Swedish home design goods! Dining on wild game! Trying to piece everything together makes me dizzy.
Now that all the writers have returned to their respective homes the Web will soon be deluged with glowing stories about traveling to Sweden, with fabulous photos featuring shockingly beautiful hot blond vikings roaming the streets architecture and landscapes. But I wanted to take a moment just for you, Grand Hotel, as you are very special to me. Your soft down-filled duvets, the complimentary chocolate truffles, sitting at my little breakfast table looking out at the harbor and munching my croissants...it was a lovely way to start a loving relationship.
I would love to remain monogamous with you, but alas I will someday be forced to stay in another hotel. Please don't be hurt. I will carry you and your croissants with me everywhere else I go.
Until we meet again,