When my mother-in-law, Linda, moved in for a “few days” due to a pipe burst in her building, I had no idea she’d take over my home. By day two, my apartment was unrecognizable. My photos were replaced with Linda’s sepia-toned portraits,

and every room was filled with reed diffusers, potpourri — even my underwear drawer wasn’t safe. She used my expensive cream, my bath gel, and even took over my private tub. And that’s when I knew — I had to fight back.