“Meg, I need you to google ‘silicone sealant’ and ‘remove from skin'”
“Why?”
“Time is a factor, Meg.”

I looked down at the water beading up on my hands, which now resembled a freshly waxed car, and realized that under different circumstances — namely, if it had happened to anyone else but me — this would probably be pretty cool. I was at least thankful I didn’t have any sort of burning or stinging sensation.

Ok, so in hindsight I shouldn’t have used my finger to spread the excess sealant around the edge of the flush valve. Less obvious (at the time at least) was my failure to realize that a sealant made to protect against water probably wouldn’t wash off in the sink. Coupled with my lack of wiping the excess off before rubbing my hands together to wash them and I was left with hands that had properties of duck feathers.

“Wash you hands with copious amounts of soap.”

I looked down at the layer of soap suds in the kitchen sink and assumed that I was using a copious enough amount. I also noticed that the soap wasn’t lathering on my hands and began to get a bit worried.

“Make sure you’re using hot water.”

It was only after this suggestion that I noticed the steam rising from my hands. Seeing as I didn’t feel any pain, I took that to be a bad sign too.

Ten minutes later, my hands finally began to prune up, which I took as an indication that the water was getting through. Another five after that and the soap began to form suds in my hands — another good sign. I also took comfort in the realization that if this stuff was really that toxic, they wouldn’t let idiots like myself simply walk in and buy it.

I still hadn’t taken a shower from the gym, so I figured it’d be a good time as it afforded me more time with my hands in water. Continuing the trend of poor decisions, I realized once I got in the shower that I was too scared to wash, uh, certain parts of myself for fear that whatever was on my hands was still there.

The good news is that, at least so far, the toilet has stopped leaking. At the small cost of irrevocable damage to my hands, I had managed to save money on a plumber. It’s probably a good thing it worked, since my next strategy involved taking the tank off the toilet, which presents a whole new class of ways to hurt myself.