Do you still do that? What am I even asking, of course you do.

[Repentant sigh, and - oh, fine. Fine, but only because she does like him. A bit. So very, very, very little. Argh.

She grabs his shoulders, solemnly, then pats his hair.] Listen here, hair. Let this vain, terrible, wicked man never have to spell you into hiding the white caused by stress.