"Hormones plus long hair in your face is a bad combination," Bob insisted. He had enough girls coming into the hospital wing in tears, desperate for some quick cure after combing their bangs over their foreheads to hide zits had just made them breakout even worse that he was standing by his advice. "There is a wonderous device that could help you here, I guess they don't have them in States since you haven't tried one yet—it's called a hair tie. Ingenious, really—you use it to tie your hair." Why was it that having to deal with his colleagues always left Bob feeling grumpy and craving caffeine? At least the healers at St. Mungo's hadn't been complete idiots. Mostly.
Bob briefly considered reminding Lazzara that he was a fully-trained wizard in possession a wand, and that growing out hair in a quick and timely manner really shouldn't be a problem for him, but he decided it would be a pointless effort. The man obviously wanted to whine and complain and act his apparent age. He prudently bit his lip to keep from saying that naps were really more for six-year-olds than seventeen-year-olds, instead pointing out that, "If you really didn't like it, you could've polyjuiced yourself to be your normal age, you know."