In the freer parts of Bonnie's mind, where things are not always so saturated with the serious, there's a great joke about how in hell eggs were intended to help with this fixing business. It's a fleeting thing, left in the dust by other questions racing toward her mouth. Bonnie nearly always chooses them, the questions that guide her toward helping-- it hardly occurs to her that in whatever confines Wonderland has wrapped them in, helping is impossible.

"But-- you said it was your fault? You look like a junior in high school." Bonnie blurts it out before realizing it is possibly maybe a little bit hypocritical.