Oh, for the love of ...

I stood on a bit of sharp metal earlier. In bare feet. Only a tiny wound, but a straight puncture up into my heel and bleeding some. So, being fairly used to this sort of thing, I go upstairs to rinse the wound out in the bath. My father assured me this would be fine, despite our recent plumbing adventures.

I turned on the tap and the world went weird and sweet-smelling and choking for a second. I turned the tap the fuck back off, staggered out of the bathroom and called downstairs for help, once I'd remembered how to breathe.

My dad: Oh. That's just the acetic acid from the sealant. Yeah, that might happen. Sorry.

... Good to know. Thanks. Some warning before I turned the tap on might have helped?

I rinsed my wound out in the bathroom sink instead. Fortunately I've excellent balance. Then I went out the back into the fresh air and coughed my lungs up for three minutes. It's all good.

*scrubs face* I realise the past couple of posts I've put up probably sound like a litany of complaints. *shrugs sheepishly* It's been that sort of week?
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