It's the little things that get you.
Like when you reach for something you absolutely must have at that particular second, and it isn't there. Because if it isn't there, it could be anywhere; which means whatever you are doing in the kitchen will be ruined by the time you make enquiries of the rest of the household as to the whereabouts of the missing item: your best knife, the corkscrew, the only colander in the house, an oven mitt, the kitchen sink plug. Whatever. All of these things have a number of potential alternative uses in a household that comprises inventive or enterprising people.
Take my favourite small dish, for example. It was just the right size to hold olives or a pat of butter for the table. Emblazoned with the University of Melbourne crest and the words Melbourne University Union House Cafeteria in black, the white porcelain bowl also made an excellent talking point. (And no, I didn't steal it.)
One day, a long time ago now, I had taken a stick of butter out of the fridge, chopped it in half, cubed the half and reached for my Union House bowl. Not there.
I found it months later in Tracy's artroom filled to just below the crest with dried paint; red mixed with yellow to make a perfect orange for her painting of sunset over citrus groves after one of our trips to Mildura, the city built by the Chaffey brothers, out of nothing, in a desert.
How could I be annoyed? Who says the bowl was any better utilised mixing paint than it was holding butter? Or sitting on a table in a cafeteria at Melbourne University Union House, for that matter? Except that the latter no longer exists. In fact, no cafeteria exists any more. What replaced cafeterias? Beats me.
Speaking of unlikely favourite items, my best butter knife has a similar background. It could be a hundred years old. The handle is of the old-fashioned bulbous kind, swelling at the top in elegant silver filigreed with scrolls and arabesques. The blade is broad and slightly flexible, providing excellent butter - and vegemite, of course - coverage with a couple of efficient sweeps of the hand. The handle bears the crest and motto of the Athenaeum Club.
And no, I didn't steal it.
Finally, a universal kitchen mystery: teaspoons. Where do all the teaspoons go?
Over to you: the answer to the question immediately above, along with stories of missing items from your kitchen, or your souvenirs - stolen or otherwise - please.