Where's Waldo?

I used to be quite good at the Where's Waldo? books. Today, I found Waldo again, and I wasn't even looking. Actually, I was looking for Toledo, but I Grooed.

To Groo, if you are unfamiliar with the term, is to commit an act so unspeakably stupid that your remaining brain cells commit suicide out of sheer embarrassment, from this character. I had to go to a meeting in Columbus, Ohio, this morning, which is a bit over 2 1/2 hour's drive from my house. No problem. I went to www.mapquest.com, printed their handy driving directions from my door to the location of my meeting, broke out my blazer and business pantyhose, and even dug up a legal pad to take notes on instead of my usual spiral notebooks. Not until after the meeting did I realize I had neglected one very important bit of preparation: I had no directions to get home. Still, not a problem, I thought. I can just reverse the directions I used to get there and take 71 North to 570 West to 23 North to 15 East to 75 North to 475 North. That plan worked for about 3 miles. About 20 miles past what should have been my first highway interchange, it became painfully obvious that the exit I should have taken was not labeled as 570 West. Ten more miles later, I finally found an offramp, which came handily equipped with a truck stop where a very nice woman gave me directions to get back on track by cruising through Edison, Mt. Gilead, and Waldo, Ohio. Which brings me to my next Lesson Learned The Hard Way: nothing makes you stick out in a truck stop like wearing a business suit.