I had to leave work early today to meet my better half; ’twas a scheduled meeting to lend spousal support for a medical consultation, and I knew when to meet her and what it was for… but she neglected to tell me the place. I knew it was with a specialist, but that only narrowed it down to a few square city blocks. She also served me comeuppance by refusing to answer the phone as I asked for specifics; if you heard the succession of voicemails you’d have a case study in how one’s demeanor transforms from bemusement (Ha ha, you forgot to tell me where to go, dumbass!) to frustration (Dammit, I’ve driven all over God’s forsaken part of Frankfort for the last 15 minutes – where the #&*# are you?!)… Only after punching my ticket to the doghouse (frequent flyer program, woo!) did I remember the new Frankfort Medical Pavilion, where I finally found a certain MN12 Thunderbird lurking about. As well as an all-too-rare glimpse of something else, which instantly and happily forgave all sins: apparently I was meant to be lost and late for a reason on AMC Day, of all days! Once we finally crossed paths, my wife even asked to make sure I saw it too. Yes indeed – and not for the first time actually, but only finally now sitting still. Too bad the rain and portico shade made for a crappy cellphoto, but beggars can’t violate HIPPA regs hold up old ladies in the doorway get choosy when faced with one of AMC’s Wackiest… AMC: fostering marital bliss, Mitch’s Javelin Jailbait or no.