This is what happens, when there's no respect for personal space in the house. My mother seems to think that there is no fundamental difference between a closed bathroom door and an open one. Consequently, either scenario is an invitation to barge in, no matter what I'm doing.
The aftermath? When you scare me as I'm applying a bandage, something bad is going to happen. Like dumping a whole box of bandages into the toilet. 80 new bandages, splattered and soaked.
I went to sleep with a bandage on my cheek. How did said bandage end up firmly wrapped around my left thumb?