Excuse me, but did you see where my temporal rift went?

I'm convinced that there's some sort of fissure in the time-space continuum . . . and it's found somewhere in my house.
Whenever I come home the warp opens up, spewing out junk from some other universe and sucking up my precious belongings.
I'm sure it must be there, for why else would my home exhibit all the classic symptoms of a temporal rift?
Like the fact that I always loose three and half pairs of socks (The darn rift always leaves one lone sock to taunt me) or that no matter how many times I check the contents of my suitcase, I always end up with an extra sweater that is not mine . . .
Or there's the case of my great-great-great grandfather's family portrait (It contains three generations; my 3g, 2g and 1g grandfathers) -when we moved six years ago it was sucked up by the rift.
Gone.
I came home this Pesach, and lo and behold, the portrait was sitting on a bookshelf, none worse for the trip it took of countless light-years and through myriads of parallel universes.

I don't know exactly where this chasm in fabric of reality lurks in my home, but I having a nagging suspicion that it lives in the closet.
I know, I know . . . that a temporal rift hanging out in a closet is a tired cliche -and most likely a copyright infringement as well- but think about it . . . if you were a temporal rift that didn't want to be found, wouldn't you also want to hide in a closet?

I've never seen it in the closet, but there are mounds of cosmic flotsam and jetsam in there -a telltale sign that a rift may indeed be around.
I mean how else could one explain that there are twelve different shoes that have never fit me in a mound to the left of an six year old esrog, or the jacket that I wore for my bar-mitzvah -the one with the chollent stain on it- sits there un-drycleaned for the past eight years (fear not my jacket, you will one day see the light of day!)
On the positive side of things, the rift seems to be rather stationary, it hasn't as of yet followed me to Poland . . . though I due fear that it may have already sent it's dark legions to haunt me even there.
We call them Polish cleaning ladies.