John shook his head in mock resignation. "I don't think you should hang out with him any more."
Teyla looked perplexed. "Why?"
"Well," John said, and scanned the hallway for minute, clearly stalling. "Look at his hair."
Teyla glanced at the retreating man's hair, then back at John, and then at the hair again. "I am not sure I understand."
"Well, look at it!" John said, his voice rising. "It's... flat. And dull. And gray! He probably spends $100 bucks a pop getting it cut and styled, but then he doesn't take any care of it."
Teyla nodded sagely, and grasped John's hands between her own. "My heart is reserved only for you. I have no other in mind."
John flushed. "I know that."
Teyla's lips quirked in a small smile.
"It's just," John continued, "a guy with hair like that, he's definitely trouble."
"Whereas a man with hair like your own," Teyla said.
John's smile was as bright as his ears.