The Day I Broke Up with Rachel Ray

I'm not speaking to Rachel Ray anymore. As far as I'm concerned, she's dead to me. Dead. Do you hear me? Here's why:

While recovering from triple bypass, open heart surgery a few years ago, I found out that Rachel Ray was going to be making an appearance at a local book store for a book signing. This was good news, because I was a big fan.

Yeah, I'm a guy and I like to cook. I'm also a single guy who needs to know how to cook, because I don't want family members coming to my apartment and finding me huddled over a plate of gray linguini. It was necessary for me to learn how to cook and Rachel's recipes are easy to make and not very time consuming.

So, when I heard she was coming to town, I had to meet her. After all, I watched all of her cooking shows, traveling shows, talk shows, game shows and, if she had a show that explained the Pythagorean Theorem, I would have watched that, too.

Let's face it, for a single guy, she's the perfect girl. She's cute, she's perky, she's smart, she's funny and she can cook. What guy wouldn't want a woman like that?

It was a chilly April afternoon and when I got to the bookstore two hours early, the line to meet my future wife, was out the door and spilling into the parking lot. Apparently, "Rach" had more fans than I imagined. So, I waited. And I waited. Soon, the sun set and the evening got a little more chilly.

She was due to arrive at seven, so at about six, I asked someone to hold my spot in line, while I went to the Starbucks located inside the bookstore. I gave the cashier the title to my car in exchange for a beverage. Actually, it was a half-decaf-caf-caf-caf-heffer-caf-cocoa.

When I returned to the line, the person holding my spot informed me that Rachel was running about a half hour late and that a bookstore employee had handed out color coded stubs for us to get in. Apparently, the color stub we held represented that we fell into the 300-400 number of people waiting. I didn't care. It was to meet my Rachel.

I had bought her latest book, "30 Ways to Cook 30 Kinds of Endangered Species in 30 Minutes for Under 30 Dollars in 30 Languages As Told to 30 People From 30 Countries." I would have bought her book if it was titled, "30 Ways to Circumcise Your Cat." After all, it was Rachel.

Word came down the line that she was there. She was seated at a table in the store, looking perky as ever and talking with people and signing their books. A rush went through my veins and I could feel the excitement overcoming my body. I couldn't wait for my turn, so that I could tell her of my recipe for a quick sandwich - peanut butter, onions and mayonnaise. I just knew she would include it in her next book, or maybe make it on her show.

I knew I didn't want my excitement get to me. I didn't want a repeat of the Teri Hatcher incident, when I ran into her at Disneyland. (The restraining order is still in effect for that one.)

An hour passed and the line wasn't moving. I couldn't understand what was going on. Why was it taking so long to meet the future mother of my children? She wouldn't disappoint me; not after what I had been through. Not after the doctors had used my chest for French doors. Not my Rachel.

Then, it happened. An employee from the book store came out to extend Rachel's apologies, but she only had time to sign the first hundred books. The collective "Ahhhs" could be heard for miles. I was crushed as the crowd broke up, muttering obscenities under their breath.

I walked with my head lower than a beer belly. Needless to say, the disappointment was devastating. My heart, with the three new arteries, was crushed. As I rounded the building, I saw a limo, with its engine running. Two women were standing about thirty feet from it. I could see in their faces, the same disappointment we all felt.

I approached them, slowly and cautiously and said, "There will be other book signings and that, if nothing else, we learned that the early bird catches the worm. The next time we'll be the first ones in line. We'll be the fortunate first hundred to share a few moments with my one and only."

As the limo drove off, the women yelled out, "You Suck!" I thought, "Right on."

And that is why, when I speak of her today, I refer to her as Rachel "She's Dead To Me. Dead" Ray.