Christmas commercial scripts

Robots that dance! Rockets that actually launch! A dinosaur the size of your little brother! Pogo and Pine Toys has four floors of everything on the list. Parents, breathe. We wrap it for free. Pogo and Pine. Bring the list.

Let's be honest. You wrap presents like a raccoon in a hurry. Bowline Wrap Studio does it properly. Sharp corners. Real ribbon. Five dollars a gift. Drop them off. Take the credit. Bowline Wrap Studio. Nobody has to know.

It's four o'clock on Christmas Eve and you forgot the cranberries. And the butter. And, somehow, the turkey. Plumfield's Market is open until nine tonight. Go. We'll hold the door. Plumfield's Market.

Under the tree there are big boxes. Loud boxes. Boxes with bows the size of a cat. And then there is the small one. Merrivale and Vane. Fine jewellery, made by hand since nineteen twelve. Save it for last.

Okay. Okay. It's Christmas Eve, it's ten forty at night, and you have nothing for your sister. Lamplight Corner Store. Candles, chocolates, cards, and a surprisingly nice scarf. Open until midnight. Lamplight. Run.

Peppermint mocha. Peppermint latte. Peppermint cold brew, for the brave. It's all back at Copper Finch Coffee, through New Year's Day. And yes, we still make a plain coffee. For your dad. Copper Finch Coffee.

Christmas morning. The fire truck is out of the box. The whole family is watching. And it needs four double A batteries. Embercell. The twenty-four pack. Buy it now, be the hero later. Embercell. Power for the big morning.

From the day after Thanksgiving to midnight on the twenty-fifth, it's nothing but Christmas music on Cedar Ninety-Nine. The classics. The new ones. And that one song your aunt loves. Cedar Ninety-Nine. Your Christmas station.

Every year, one photo. Everybody on the stairs in matching pajamas. Mom, Dad, three kids, and a dog who has given up. Flannel and Fir family sets start at twenty-nine dollars. Flannel and Fir. Yes, we make dog sizes.

Boxing Day at Pendlebury's! Doors open at seven a.m. Half price coats. Half price boots. Half price televisions, while they last. One day only. December twenty-sixth. Pendlebury's. Set an alarm. Then set another one.

The slippers were a kind thought. They were also three sizes too small and shaped like trout. Bring them to Wexley's. Returns through January thirty-first. No receipt, no questions. Wexley's. It really is the thought that counts.

The snow has stopped. The dishes can wait. Somebody finally found the good mug. Mugsworth dark hot chocolate. Three spoonfuls, warm milk, and nowhere to be. Mugsworth. Stay in tonight.

Poinsettias. Everybody brings a poinsettia. Be the one who brings the amaryllis. Tall, red, and blooming right on Christmas week. Thistle and Stem. Holiday plants from eighteen dollars, delivered by Friday. Thistle and Stem. Outshine the poinsettia.

Forty-one photos. In forty of them, somebody is blinking, crying, or eating a crayon. You only need one. Snapquill holiday cards. Upload it tonight, in the mail by Thursday. Fifty cards, thirty-five dollars. Snapquill. Send the good one.

One bulb goes out, and the whole string goes dark. Every year. Gantry Brothers Hardware has replacement bulbs, fuses, and outdoor cords, plus a fella named Lou who can find the bad one. Gantry Brothers Hardware. Ask for Lou.

Stockings. Four of them. Still empty. Wellby Drug has lip balm, playing cards, tiny flashlights, and chocolate oranges, all under five dollars. Fill all four for under forty dollars. Wellby Drug. Open till ten, every night this week.

Skating under the lights at Mercer Park is back! Twelve dollars gets you in. Skates are five. Holding on to the wall is free, and nobody's judging. Mercer Park Ice Rink. Open nightly through January third.

Twenty-five days. Twenty-five movies. One very determined small-town baker who just needs to save the inn. The Evergreen Channel Holiday Movie Marathon starts December first. You know how they end. Watch anyway. Only on the Evergreen Channel.

It's December twenty-third. You have nineteen presents to wrap, one roll of tape, and no plan for dinner. Benny's Brick Oven. Two large pizzas, twenty-two dollars, at your door in thirty minutes. Benny's. Keep wrapping. We'll knock.

When you were nine, socks were the worst present under the tree. You're not nine anymore. Woolcott merino socks. Warm, soft, and guaranteed for life. Three pairs for thirty dollars. Woolcott. Finally, socks.

It's the Tamblyn Motors Year-End Sleigh Sale! Every new truck, every new sedan, every S-U-V on the lot is marked down through December thirty-first. Zero down. Zero percent for sixty months. And we'll give you three thousand dollars over book for your trade. You want the giant red bow on the roof? That's forty dollars. I don't make the rules. My wife does. She sells the bows. Tamblyn Motors, Highway Nine in Clarksburg. Drive it home for Christmas.

Here is a Christmas Eve where nobody peels a potato. Nobody watches the oven. Nobody stands at the sink until eleven. Bellamy's Table is serving a four-course Christmas Eve dinner. Roast beef, winter vegetables, and a chocolate cake worth arguing over. Sixty-five dollars a person. Kids under ten eat free. Seatings at five and at eight. Bellamy's Table. You bring the family. We'll do the dishes.

When you're out shopping this week, you'll buy something for your kids. Something for your nieces. Something for the neighbor's little boy. Buy one more. The Elm County Toy Drive gave new toys to two thousand local children last year. This year the list is longer. Drop a new, unwrapped toy at any fire station before December eighteenth. One more toy. That's the whole ask. The Elm County Toy Drive.

My kids got a drum kit for Christmas. From my brother. Who does not have kids. So this year I asked for one thing. Hushwell noise-cancelling headphones. Forty hours of battery. Soft as a pillow. And when I switch them on, the drum kit goes away. I can still see it. I just can't hear it. Hushwell headphones. One forty-nine through Christmas Eve. Next year, my brother gets a puppy.

Here's a secret about Christmas. Nobody ever returned a book. A jumper, yes. A scarf, certainly. A singing fish, within the hour. But a good book gets read by the fire, passed to a sister, and argued about until Easter. At Quillane Books, tell us who it's for, and we'll find the one. It takes us about four minutes. Quillane Books, Bridge Street. Open late every night until Christmas Eve.

Your dog knows which present is his. He has known for nine days. He has sniffed it. He has sat next to it. Last night he tried to open it with his face. Put him out of his misery. The Biscuit and Burrow holiday box has six treats, two toys, and one squeaky reindeer, for twenty-four ninety-nine. Biscuit and Burrow. He's been very patient. For a dog.

There's a kitchen somewhere with one more chair than usual. A porch light left on early. A mother pretending she's not watching the driveway. Junco Air flies to sixty-two cities, with fares from eighty-nine dollars each way when you book by December tenth. No change fees. Free checked bag. Because the presents have to get there too. Junco Air. Be the one they're waiting for.

It gets dark early up here. By four o'clock the hills are gone and the windows are black. So we learned, a long time ago, how to make a blanket. Strathlarach lambswool throws are woven at our mill on the river, the same way since eighteen sixty. Heavy. Soft. Warm enough for a Highland winter. One hundred and twenty dollars, and it'll outlast the lot of us. Strathlarach Woollen Mill. Give them something warm.

This Christmas, the snowball fight goes online! Frostfall Rally! Forty players. One frozen mountain. Build your fort, pack your snowballs, and take the hill before the storm rolls in. Ride a sled. Launch a snowman. Team up with your cousins, even the ones three states away. Frostfall Rally, from Mittenbyte Games. For ages eight and up. Twenty-nine ninety-nine, out December fifth. Last team standing gets the cocoa.

The wrapping paper is in the bin. The last cousin has gone home. The house is finally, completely quiet. This part is yours. Light one Wick and Winter candle. Balsam, orange peel, and a little woodsmoke. Sixty hours of burn time, poured by hand. Sit down. You did all of it. It was lovely. Wick and Winter. Twenty-eight dollars. For after.

Christmas in Australia. Thirty-eight degrees, the cricket's on, and nobody is turning on an oven. So it's prawns. It's always prawns. Saltgrass Seafood has fresh tiger prawns at thirty-two dollars a kilo, plus oysters, crayfish, and whole snapper, straight off the boat. Order by December twenty-second and skip the queue. Because the queue on Christmas Eve goes round the block. Twice. Saltgrass Seafood. Sorted.

I love my in-laws. I want that on the record. I love them most when they are well rested, in a king bed, eleven minutes from my house. Hollis House Hotel has holiday rates from ninety-nine dollars a night. Free breakfast. An indoor pool for the grandkids. And a front desk that will never ask them how long they're staying. They get a quiet room. I get my bathroom back. Hollis House Hotel. Book by December fifteenth. Everybody stays happy.

Your guests arrive in six days. And right now, your guest room has an air mattress with a slow leak and a mysterious history. Fix it at the Dozewell Holiday Mattress Event! Queen sets from three ninety-nine! Free pillows! Free delivery before Christmas, guaranteed! Order by December twentieth and it's in your house by the twenty-third. We'll even haul away the old one. We won't ask about the history. Dozewell Mattress Outlet. Four locations. Open until nine.

She will not remember the paper. She will not remember the ribbon, or the box, or which chair she was sitting in. She will remember the first breath. Velours, by Maison Verrelle. Amber. White cedar. A trace of smoke, like a room where a fire was lit an hour ago. Some gifts are opened. This one is worn. Velours. Maison Verrelle.

Boys and girls! Mums and dads! Grandads who said they wouldn't enjoy it and absolutely will! The Wickham Playhouse pantomime is back, and this year it's Mother Goose. There's a villain to boo. There's a dame in a frock the size of a caravan. There are sweets thrown at row F. Tickets from fourteen pounds. Two shows daily, December twelfth to January third. Is it the best night out this Christmas? Oh yes it is. Wickham Playhouse. Book now.

In kennel fourteen there's a nine-year-old beagle named Mabel. She has been with us for two hundred and six days. She doesn't know it's Christmas. She knows when the door opens, and she looks up every time. Second Porch Animal Rescue isn't asking you to give a pet as a present. We're asking you to come and meet one. Adoption fees are waived through December thirty-first. Second Porch Animal Rescue. Mabel's looking at the door.

Here's your Christmas morning. No alarm. No tie. No assembly required. Just fourteen inches of fresh snow and the first chair up Timberjay Mountain. Forty-four runs. Nine lifts. A lodge with a fireplace you could park a car in. Holiday lift tickets are sixty-nine dollars when you buy online by December twentieth. Kids under six ski free. Timberjay Mountain. Unwrap this.

My mother's mixer was avocado green and louder than a lawnmower. It made every Christmas cookie I ever ate. Mine is a Hobson and Whisk. Ten speeds. A five-quart bowl. Quiet enough that I can hear my granddaughter ask if she can lick the beater. The answer is yes. The answer was always yes. The Hobson and Whisk stand mixer, two forty-nine through December twenty-fourth, in six colors. Sadly, not avocado.

December is wonderful. December is lights, and cookies, and saying yes to everything. January is when the statement arrives. This year, be ready for it. A Quarry Road Credit Union holiday loan gives you up to three thousand dollars at a fixed rate, with one payment a month and no surprises. Apply in ten minutes, online or at any branch. Quarry Road Credit Union. Enjoy December. We'll help with January.

On Christmas Day, Walter will set his table for one. He'll use the good plate, because it's Christmas. He'll turn on the radio, because the house is quiet. And around noon, he'll listen for a knock. That knock is us. Lanternlight Meals delivers a hot Christmas dinner to nine hundred older neighbors who would otherwise spend the day alone. Turkey, potatoes, and a slice of pie. And a volunteer who stays long enough to ask how he's doing, and wait for the real answer. For a lot of people on our route, it's the only visit all week. Eleven dollars pays for one dinner and one knock on the door. Twenty-two pays for two. We don't need much. We need it by December twentieth. Give at lanternlight meals dot org. Lanternlight Meals. Nobody should listen for a knock that doesn't come.

It's two in the morning on December twenty-fifth. You are sitting on the garage floor. Around you there are forty-one bolts, two wheels, a chain, and an instruction sheet written by someone who has never met a bicycle. There is a part left over. There is always a part left over. You don't know what it does. You suspect it's the brakes. Upstairs, a seven-year-old is asleep, dreaming about this bike. In four hours she will ride it down the driveway. Toward the street. Friend, there's a better way. At Tandem Lane Cycles, every kids' bike comes fully built, safety checked, and ready to roll. Free. We'll even hide it in our back room until Christmas Eve. Kids' bikes start at one hundred nineteen dollars. Helmets are half price with any bike through December twenty-fourth. Tandem Lane Cycles. Go to bed. We built it already.

My grandmother is eighty-four. She lives nine hundred miles away, and she does not trust the internet. Last Christmas we called her on video. For the first six minutes, we saw her ceiling. Then her ear. Then, for some reason, the cat. And then she figured it out. And there she was. In her red cardigan, at her kitchen table, watching my kids open the presents she'd mailed in October. She saw every one. She heard every thank you. She told my son his hair was too long, just like she would have in person. That's what a good connection is for. Parley Wireless has unlimited video calling on every plan, with coverage in all fifty states. Family plans start at twenty-five dollars a line. Switch by December fifteenth and we'll set up Grandma's phone for her. Ceiling not included. Parley Wireless. Close enough to hear the wrapping paper.

Folks, it's that time again. The forty-third annual Marlow Falls Christmas Parade is Saturday, December twelfth, and it steps off at six p.m. sharp. This year we've got eleven floats, four marching bands, and the entire Marlow Falls volunteer fire department, lit up like a birthday cake. We've got the high school drumline. We've got the Senior Center kazoo choir. We've got a tractor wearing antlers, driven by a man named Gary, who takes this very seriously. And at the end, on the last float, the big fella himself. He'll be at the bandstand afterward for photos until eight. Hot chocolate is one dollar at the boosters' tent. Parking is free behind the co-op. Main Street closes at five, so come early and bring a blanket. The Marlow Falls Christmas Parade. Saturday, December twelfth, six p.m. Wave at Gary. He'll pretend he didn't see you. He saw you.

This is it. The last Saturday before Christmas. And Kingsbrook Galleria is open from seven a.m. until midnight. One hundred and forty stores. One roof. Four thousand free parking spaces, and yes, we counted. Take forty percent off winter coats at Alder and Wren. Buy one, get one on every board game at Tumble Toys. Fragrance sets from nineteen ninety-nine. Slippers from twelve. Headphones, handbags, hockey sticks, and a candle for the person you forgot. Free coat check on level one. Gift wrap on level two. Santa's in the center court until nine, and the line moves faster than you'd think. Tired? The food court has thirty-one kinds of lunch and a chair with your name on it. You have one Saturday. You have one list. You can absolutely do this. Kingsbrook Galleria. Exit fourteen off the parkway. Open until midnight this Saturday, December nineteenth. Go. Go now.

Not everybody gets Christmas off. Somebody's driving a truck through the night so the shelves are full on the twenty-sixth. Somebody's on the fourth floor of County General, checking on a stranger's mama. Somebody's fixing the power line the ice took down. So forty years ago, Dot and Vern decided the diner would stay open on Christmas Day. And it has, every year since. Coffee's on by five a.m. There's ham, biscuits, and red-eye gravy, and there's pecan pie as long as it lasts, which is never long. If you're working Christmas, your first cup is on us. If you're in uniform, so is breakfast. And if you've just got no place else to be, well, pull up a stool. You'll know somebody by the time you leave. Dot and Vern's Diner, Route Eleven, just past the feed store. Open Christmas Day. Same as always. Somebody ought to be.

There are sixty-two people in the Pinewater Community Chorus. One of them is your dentist. One of them is the man who fixed your transmission. One is the third grade teacher everybody still calls Mrs. Abbott, even though she retired in two thousand nine. None of them are professionals. All of them have been rehearsing in the middle school gym since September, every Tuesday night, in folding chairs. And once a year, they put on the good black clothes and they sound like something you'd pay a lot more to hear. The Pinewater Community Chorus Winter Concert is Friday, December eighteenth, and Saturday, December nineteenth, at seven thirty, in the Pinewater High School auditorium. Tickets are ten dollars. Students are five. Kids under twelve are free, and there are cookies in the lobby at intermission. Come hear your neighbors. They're better than you think. And your dentist has a solo.

December twenty-fourth. Nine p.m. Eleven relatives in the house, and the furnace makes a sound like a dropped toolbox. Then nothing. By ten, it's sixty-one degrees in the living room. By eleven, Uncle Ray is wearing two coats and telling everybody how his generation didn't even have furnaces. Here's the number you want. Five five five, oh one four two. That's Lindqvist Heating and Cooling. We answer the phone twenty-four hours a day, including tonight. Including tomorrow. A real person, not a recording. We'll have a technician at your door inside two hours, and there's no extra charge for holidays. Never has been. My dad started this company in nineteen seventy-eight, and he said if a family's cold on Christmas, you go. So we go. Lindqvist Heating and Cooling. Five five five, oh one four two. Put it on the fridge now, before you need it. And tell Uncle Ray we said hello.

The engine is ninety-four years old. She runs on coal, and patience, and a man named Emmett who talks to her. Every December, we hang two thousand lights on her, hook up five wooden coaches, and take her eleven miles up the valley in the dark. There's hot cider in a paper cup. There's a conductor who punches every ticket, even the baby's. And somewhere past the old mill, when the town lights fall away, the whole car goes quiet. Because out the window, there's nothing but snow, and stars, and the glow of the train on the trees. Kids press their faces to the glass. Grown-ups do too. They just pretend they're checking for something. The Cobble Creek Christmas Train runs Friday through Sunday, November twenty-seventh to December twentieth. Tickets are twenty-two dollars, twelve for children. Most nights sell out, so book early. The Cobble Creek Railway. All aboard. Emmett's waiting, and so is she.

My family does not play games for fun. My family plays to win. Last Christmas, my aunt flipped a table over a trivia question about rivers. She was right, by the way. She is still not over it. So this year I'm bringing Mitten Mayhem. Here's how it works. Everybody gets a pair of oven mitts. Then you race to stack tiny wooden presents on a wobbling sleigh. With the mitts on. Against a sand timer. While everyone else is allowed to heckle. It takes ninety seconds to learn. It takes about four minutes for my grandfather to accuse somebody of cheating. Two to eight players, ages six to one hundred and six. No reading. No batteries. No trivia about rivers. Mitten Mayhem, from Loftus Games. Nineteen ninety-nine, wherever games are sold. Bring it to Christmas. Hide the good tablecloth. And somebody please keep an eye on my aunt.