Let me finish, then you can chirp.
From Alfred at Christmas, one of 296 sayings written by John Sarris over thirty years.
From Alfred’s journal
Switch came up the trunk at noon with half a walnut and a theory about the new dog on Mercer Street, and I was three lines into something about the color of November light. He got out maybe four words before I said it. Let me finish, then you can chirp. He sat. He actually sat, holding the page flat with one paw, and waited the whole time it took me to write a sentence I later crossed out. For years I thought interrupting was the rude part. It may be that the rude part is making somebody hold the page while you write nothing worth keeping, and his dog story was good.
He reads what you tell him and writes a page of his journal back, with a few of these chosen for you. It costs nothing and asks for nothing.
Have it on something
More like it
- Of course reindeer can fly. A bird taught them.
- Forget reindeer and give me a flock of geese crossing a silver moon.
- I have a flight plan, but no fight plan. It's a bird thing.
- It's Christmas. You bring the cookies. I'll bring the songs.
- Feed your flock. Leave a fruitcake in the backyard.
- I'd jingle all the way if I could carry the bells and fly.