The tonneau cover-up
In an unprecedented display of shortsightedness, a father and his grown son disembark their pick-up truck in the parking lot of a boxy edifice with the words 'Craft Barn' blazing a reflection above revolving doors. The truck's tonneau teems with fishing gear and duffel bags bearing Webelow patches. Among the station wagons and sedans is one other pick-up, black with a folding tonneau cover over the bed. Father mentions their truck could use one.
The folding tonneau cover will have to wait; mother needs knitting needles. The son pulls a piece of paper from his back pocket, "size 8, aluminum." Crossed out are: stuff for making flies; bait; skewers; s'mores; cheap poles. He writes "folding tonneau cover" on the bottom of the list. Out of room, he imagines a bulleted list of features, like ad copy.
Folding Tonneau Cover
Brandishing a pair of 14-inch, size 8, knitting needles, the son follows his father out the revolving doors. Like a child himself, he circles once for kicks. Emerging from Craft Barn, he sees his father's impulse candies on the ground and the old man racing to the truck. The bags, poles, and truck with the folding tonneau cover are gone.
Not to vilify folding tonneau covers; their applications number in the hundreds and few of them can be considered deceitful: reduce drag coefficient; seamless and stylish; protection from the elements; protection from thieves. There is no such thing as a bad folding tonneau cover, just bad people.