Lara: (looks up) Hey! (Lara cuts her thumb.) Ow!
Dana: Oh, my god! Oh - oh, my god, I'm sorry, I --
Lara: It's okay.
Dana: (panicked) Ah, Jesus, you're disfigured!
Lara: (smiling, calm) I'm not disfigured.
Dana: But I could've killed you! When you were (makes chopping motions)... you know...
Lara: It happens all the time.
Dana: Well, should we call a doctor?
Lara: (giggles) Dana! (she holds up her hand, counting off fingers) Second-degree burn from the Béchamel sauce. Run-away shish-kabob. An attack from a particularly hostile live lobster, and, um, electric can-opener.
Dana: Is there anything I can do?
Lara: You could kiss it and make it better.