Truth is stranger than fiction. At least that's the case in my life.

Perhaps the best story that represents this quote occurred a few weeks ago when I was attempting to clean out my van.

I've written about the van in the recent past, and let's just say it looks an awful lot like a scud missile ripped through the back seat after tearing through someone's garbage. Papers, books, calculators and all sorts of items sit back there.

However, nothing could prepare me for what I found last week.

While cleaning, I came across a shoe. Not just any shoe, but a shoe that did not belong to me, or anyone else in my family, for that matter.

It was a men's size 7, black dress shoe, and what really freaked me out was the fact that there was no mate. It was the right shoe only, folks. I guess on a positive note, there was no foot attached to this shoe.

Curiosity is getting the best of me now, though. How in the heck could I end up with someone else's shoe in my van, and what else is back there that warrants CSI coming to investigate?

Traveling back in my mind — which is scary enough to begin with — I attempt to retrace my steps, in my own shoes, of course.

The last time I took my shoes off in, on, near or around the van was during golf season. Based on the weather we've been having, the last time I teed it up was nearly six weeks ago. Besides, I am guessing most of my golfing buddies wear something bigger than a size 7.

I don't bowl, so I didn't inadvertently pick up a loose shoe at the alley. Maybe I picked up the shoe during one of my kid's gym classes, where everyone, parents included, are required to remove all footwear.

Wouldn't one of the parents try to stop me though, when I walked out the door? No. This has to be something more. Somehow, I am thinking that my family is involved in this, attempting to make me go insane. It's working!

My sister certainly has the capabilities and the sinister sense of humor to try and pull this off.

Looking at our past, I am sure that I am probably deserving of this sort of treatment. In fact, the more I think about it, she has told me, "Don't be critical until you've walked a mile in another man's shoes." Hmmm. I always wondered what that meant!

My wife of 11 years would do this to me as well, but the problem is, she can't part with shoes of any kind. There is a reason we used to call her Amelda Marcos, and it's not because she's from the Philippines. It definitely is due to her footwear fetish.

Perhaps one of my students or even my business partner felt the need to place this most unusual "gift" in my car in an attempt to see how long it would take me to find it.

If this is the case, let me just say that I knew about the shoe well before this writing. I was simply hoping someone would "put their best foot forward" and announce what they had done. (I couldn't resist the play on words.)

The sad thing is, I can't even donate it to the Salvation Army or other charity since there is no mate, kind of like peanut butter without jelly.

So as I sit here, alone in the van, I am tempted to try the darn thing on. After all, "if the shoe fits."