In search of the one-shoe(ed) man?

Like the socks that get lost in the dryer, here's another one of life's great mysteries. Why are there so many single shoes on area roads, streets and highways?

When will the other shoe drop? At the entrance of my subdivision, one Nubuck suede shoe remained in the street all summer. I was tempted to pick it up every time I jogged, but eventually it became a source of pride -- like public art. One day it disappeared as mysteriously as it appeared.

The other morning at a local intersection, after I dropped my daughter off at school, there was a another single. It was nice and new, too -- one high-top basketball sneaker alone in the road, getting drenched by a thunderstorm. At yet another intersection, a running shoe lay as a silent witness for months.

Road kill man-made in Taiwan.

I wonder if there is a land of misplaced shoes somewhere, like the land of misfit toys on that Christmas Claymation story of my youth? My little baby often kicks off her shoes, especially in the grocery store. We have to backtrack when she does this, and usually we find one or the other in the middle of the supermarket aisle, in another room, on the staircase or in a corner.

But these shoes in the street -- they're worn by adults, not babies. I keep a look out for news reports to see if anybody's been knocked out of their boots or worse. Nothing.

So this remains one of life's great mysteries -- like those treasured argyle socks you only wore once after one of them was digested by the Maytag.