By an odd comparison and perhaps shamefully I respond more acutely to a visit to the car repair shop than to my family physician. The reaction naturally speaks to the no doubt fleeting though momentarily surpassing penetration of my car to that of my corpus. The damaged goods of my body are predominantly irreversible whereas the maintenance of my vehicle admits to predictable optimism and hopeful triumph. Incited by this consummate seduction I awoke very early this morning, drove to the dealership and was the first in line for what I reckon was equivalent to a psychiatric appointment with the service department under the auspices of the assiduous Shop Foreman Wayde Kingsley at Lincoln Heights Ford, Richmond Road, Ottawa.