"Less than noble, hm?" she asked, unabashedly looking him up and down. "Interesting." Her thumbs slipped into her pockets as she followed him to the counter and the bright spot faded quickly into something much more dismal. It was impossible to ignore the fact that she was in a bowling alley when a bald man with Carl embroidered on his shirt was looking bored and impatient- as if he had something oh so important to do- as he waited for her response.
"Well, they always say size doesn't matter," she replied with a small smirk. Did her gaze just flicker below his waist band? Never. "Size eight," she finished, turning to eye the cashier warily as he moved to get her shoes. That someone else- many someone elses had worn. And sweat in. With their deformed old lady feet.
At least she'd remembered to bring socks.
And if nothing else, she could keep pushing his buttons and see if he cracked.