The slit of her eye relaxes a bit with sympathy. Most of the time Fry is an annoyance and a waste of time, but she still thinks of him as something along the lines of a puppy-dog. A smelly, unhygienic, puppy-dog with mental issues. And fleas.

She sighs softly. "Come on, Fry. Maybe the bar will be here tomorrow." It's more credit than she wants to give him, but she feels bad enough to humor him for the moment.

She opens the bathroom door again, and stops in her tracks.