It’s a little hard to believe that Christmas will be here in exactly one week, but one of the biggest days of the year is almost upon us. In honor of Christmas, here’s our variation on one of the most popular Christmas stories.
Twas the night before Christmas when all through the garage, not a creature was stirring in the front yard montage.
The snowmen watched over the child with care, in hopes that a DuraShield cover soon would be there.
You see, Mr. Jones left his car quite uncovered and water and moisture o’er the gas tank had hovered. “I’ll take it outside,” he’d sworn up and down, “and keep it like new, my fresh Lincoln Town.”
But days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months, and not once did Jones give more than two grunts. He sat and he loitered and he let the clock tick, and the poor missus though she’d married a brick.
When lo! What was that? There arose such a clatter, Mister and Missus went to check out the matter. Away to the window they flew like a flash- or would have, had Mister not forgotten the trash.
The fresh fallen snow lay deep, crisp and even, hiding the fact that neighborhood kids’d been thievin’.
The last string of lights – too high to be reached – shone red, white and green, like candy canes each.
But scant as they were they shone what was there, and what was there was a man dressed in red, with white hair.
“St. Nick?” asked the Joneses, “Santa Claus, is it you? “Have you come to our house on foot with your crew?”
Santa smiled and chuckled and jiggled his belly, chubby and plump like a bowlful of jelly. “Yes, Mister! Yes, Missus! I’m here on Yule Eve to check on your car, see it’s good ‘ere I leave.
“I’ve heard rumors and tales and episodes strange that your Lincoln Town Car was close to catching the mange.” Mr. Jones looked quite sheepish, his cheeks were bright red, he stuttered, he stumbled, he felt a strong dread.
“It’s true,” he admitted, “my care was quite lax.” “Aha!” shouted Missus. “I’ve got me the facts. He never washes or vacuums or waxes or cleans, and the Town Car – once new – looks like crushed jellybeans.”
Santa Claus grinned and looked over his specs, adjusted his hat and brushed away falling flecks. “It’s fine,” he said, “not a worry to have. I’ll fix it right now with what’s in my bag.”
With a brandishing flourish he opened his sack, gave a hop, took a twirl, ran there and ran back. “Look,” he cried, “at what I have here. A DuraShield cover that won’t disappear.”
Santa grinned with great glee as he handed it over, and said, with a twinkle, “It’s great! But moreover, it keeps cars clean and safe over winter so when spring arrives, there’s no rust-caused frame splinters.
The Mister and Missus, overcome with great joy, trembled with pleasure at their grand new toy. “Thank you, Santa,” they said, “it’s a gift that just fits. On the Lincoln it goes, and it’ll stay there- no quits!”
With a wave of his mitts, Santa turned and departed to give DuraShield covers to more on his chart. He knows, like the Joneses, there’s just far too many car owners sans covers who won’t spend a penny.
This Christmas, be wise, be prudent and smart, get a DuraShield cover for your poor golf cart. While you’re at it, buy one, buy two or buy three, with shipping to the lower 48 states that’s free.