When I was a youngster living on the family farm, my mother got her undies in a bunch because of this very subject. She was outnumbered (me, my older brother, and my father). After one of her particularly unglued tirades, my father went into their bedroom and took a sledge hammer to the north wall. Within four days my mother had her own private bathroom with instructions never to use "our" bathroom again. And to really shut her up he interviewed and then hired a housekeeper who came in every day except Sunday for four hours. Both actions on my father's part pissed off my mother so much that she never, in her 80+ years got over my father's solution to her problem. He continued to interview and decide upon housekeepers over the years insisting that because he was paying for them it was his right to hire and fire them. My father was a smart man. Looking back, although I loved my mother, she was a spoiled ungrateful bitch. But we kept her around. She could make good fudge.