I knew how to handle my Dad. When it came to dishes, I would admit that I could not do them the way he liked and would remind him how dissatisfied he would be. He would agree and say "You are right, you are a lousy dishwasher." Instead I would go over to the piano and play some song he liked. He would sing while he did the dishes.

When it came to preparing the meals, I would do a similar routine. I was allowed to clear and set the table; after the meal I would scrape off the plates, take out the garbage, maybe sweep the floor. I never washed the floor, as he would always tell me I did a terrible job. I learned not to get my feelings hurt as I realized as long as he thought I was lousy at cleaning I did not have to clean.

I made the mistake one day of showing my talents at ironing and doing the laundry. Boy did I regret that. He would toss clothes at me and say I need this by tommorrow.
We lived in an apartment so that meant walking to the laundromat. He would toss enough coins at me to do several loads so realizing the profit I was going to make I did it.