Hah. He shoots her a wry grin, then lifts his eyebrows and gives a flourish of his hand. "A wise wizened crone, hobbling around on her creaky arthritic knees, complaining of throwing out her hip and occasionally coughing up actual dustballs, then," he says, then sweeps that hand to the side so he can lower himself in a little bow. Then he lifts himself up again just in time to avoid actually stumbling on a rock outcropping. As convincingly as it would make him look drunk, he'd sooner not actually fall and break his face.

"So are you a representative of your family, then? I notice you didn't give me any family name. Not that I'd know them, of course, you being a prole galactic and all."