I hate urushiol

I see my physical therapist/witch doctor in Mill Valley every tuesday; i usually bring the dogs and go hiking afterwards. There's an easy-to-get-to open space nearby which permits dogs. As I am wont to do, I've started getting off the main trails and finding cross-country routes.
This Tuesday, the path I was taking became more and more overgrown, and I started hacking my way through chapparal. I KNOW BETTER, but I figured I'd be careful and I showered when I got home and everything. But I've now spent this weekend with a itchy rash on the side of my neck that has settled in nicely and is showing no impatience to leave. This doubtlessly lends a phantom-of-the-opera glamor to my otherwise staid features, but it's uncomfortable and I wish it would go away.
Poison oak is really an admirable plant. It can be quite beautiful in shape and color; it grows in all kinds of difficult environments (it was really the only native plant surviving in the french broom thicket I was hacking through), and it's always amusing to point out how many different forms it has to the unitiated. You'd think some Luther Burbank character would have bred a non-poisonous variety by now; I think it would make a wonderful cultivar. But for right now, if it all shriveled up and died I would shed no tears.