He grins and holds his hands up in mock surrender before rubbing at the spot she'd elbowed, giving her his best pained look. "Just checking! Shoshana, the psychiatrist, right? Jesus, I'm curious what she would have said about me, wonder if it would match up to what other idiots have tried to say." Ooh, he wishes he hadn't said that because it makes it sound like he's had people shoving diagnoses down his throat for ages but maybe she hadn't caught it. "Very cool, with the painting and sculptures, though. You're not big on the art thing, then? I was so going to ask you to design my next tattoo, what a bummer."

A bell rings when the door to the shop opens, and he pokes at a rusty-looking copper sculpture of an ostrich that greets them in the threshold. "Wait, what? Wow, that's all kinds of messed up, your poor mom." He picks up a delightfully ugly lamp with a six-inch tall owl at the base except covered in fake feathers and with two giant yellow eyes above its beak. "Are your artsy senses tingling? Would your mom approve?"