Domestic Mysteries

Last week, with the single press of a button, I managed to dye an entire laundry cycle, including half the Vicar's underclothes, bright pink. As I burrowed frantically through the under-sink cupboard for the bleach I'd just bought, and found instead five half-filled bottles of white spirit, which I have never knowingly owned, I realised that domestic life is full of mysteries that defy science.
There's the inexplicable fact, for instance, that the molluscs of Middlesex choose to commit mass suicide in my tiny kitchen drain - and the related conundrum that, despite the combined IQ of my family eclipsing my own, only I am deemed capable of scraping out the slug stew that causes the sink to drain over the patio.
I would be grateful, therefore, if the world's great minds would leave off fiddling with the Higgs boson and find an explanation for why...
Each time you halve the contents of your laundry basket it doubles.

No matter how many bottom sheets you buy, there are never any spares in the linen cupboard.

All shiny new teaspoons are guaranteed to disappear, but the old liver-spotted ones that make the kids weep defiantly accompany you on every house move

Socks enter a hot cycle in conjugal harmony and emerge forever singletons.

There is always a can of sweetcorn in the larder in every home you've ever occupied, although you have never bought the stuff. 

There is never a replacement packet of coffee in the larder, although you stock up on it every Thursday.

The brolly bucket, despite your frequent investments, is colonised by unfamiliar umbrellas of unfathomable origin, none of which open. 

It's always the right-hand glove that vanishes on first outing, so you can never improvise a pair from your legion of lefts.

Regardless of how many smart leather bookmarks you acquire, you're always obliged to resort to a length of loo roll to mark your place at bedtime. 

No mortal being under your roof is ever responsible for the disappearance of the spare car key/new bath soap/black shoe polish/TV remote control.

What domestic mysteries bug you? Or can you produce a scientific explanation for mine?