"Oh, can't have that, can we?" He grinned. "I guess I'll just have to take you out shopping myself, then." He let her work, familiar with the process by now, since any time his hair needed to be whipped into shape he went to her.
"I know what I've read in books, I know what I've figured out myself, and I might have spent all night on Wikipedia reading about various art movements, but I don't have any formal training. It's," and his voice deepened, his accent played up, "'a waste of time and a useless hobby'," his voice returned to normal, "as my father would say."
He tried to read as she worked, wincing every time she caught a tangle (which, considering his hair and the fact that it so rarely saw a brush, was quite often), but finally gave up and closed the book with a sigh. "Okay, talk to me, my dove. How have you been?"