- "Well, Sam, time to wrap up. You can close the store. Did you get your furby?"
"Sure did, boss. 'Twas a good night, wasn't it?"
"It sure was, Sam. Well, see ya."
"See ya."
And as all the lights inside were dimming and the snow outside the store was pilling up, a diminute figure, a prune of a person, came knocking on the window.
"Why, it's old McCloud!", said Sam as he opened the door, "I'm sorry, sir, but we're closing. What are you doing here on christmas eve, anyway?"
"Closing? Oh, shut. Well, that's what you get for leaving everything to the last minute. I was a looking for a very particular trinket, but it was sold out in every single shop."
"What were you looking for?"
"Oh, you probably don't have it either. It's one of those litte furry pets with the big ears..."
"A furby?"
"That's the one. I don't suppose you have it, do you?"
"Well..."
Nobody would judge poor old Sam for not giving Mr. McCloud the little pet toy he was saving for his nephews. Nobody. But that's the thing with the holiday spirit: you just wanna make people fell good.
"Well, Mr. McCloud, you came in just in time. We have but one of those left. I'll get it for you."
"You do? That's marvelous!"
And so, trying to figure out the little gremlin -- "He's just like that one in the movie, isn't he?" --, Mr. McCloud headed off the store, but not before asking Sam:
"How was it tonight, Sam? Did you have a good night?"
"We sure did, sir. We sure did. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Sam."
Did you write that? Very nice.