Today is the day to eat some crackers.

Mrs. Zulkey.com, my advice columnist, is my Mom, who really enjoys trying to help solve your problems, whatever they may be, for some reason. Email her directly here.

Dear Sheryl,

I heard in the news the other day that you've just had surgery for breast cancer. If you do really have breast cancer, then get better soon. This is a terrible disease, you must be strong and believe, blah blah blah. It must suck to have cancer in your intimate parts, doesn't it? I would know, after all.

Honestly, some part of me thinks that this is just some ploy of yours to get attention post-breakup. Everybody knows that cancer is my thing. Listen, I'm sorry that my cancer survival and numerous Tour de France wins have made me irresistable to the ladies. I thought you knew going into our relationship that while you may be a rock star, I'm a bike star, baby. And everybody knows bike stars just can't stay true to one chick for long. I believe you taught that lesson to my ex-wife, didn't you?

Sheryl, how could you. Getting cancer just to spite me and get pity. In some ways, I'd rather you had bought a ten-speed and become a biking champion in your own right, if you were looking for ways to get back at me. Although let's face it, you may rock onstage but I highly doubt you can rock a steep hill on slippery asphalt with a headwind the way I can.

But breast cancer. I guess I have to hand it to you: breast cancer trumps testicular cancer. It's more tragic, it's not as funny and pink is less obnoxious than bright yellow. I'm just disappointed in your lack of creativity. Sure, you might get politicians and teenagers all over the place to wear a pink rubber LIVECROW bracelet but everybody will know you were just biting it off me.

I was hoping you'd be classy about this breakup, but I guess it's just asking too much from a woman to keep a level head about such things. Such is the nature of woman. You're hot and sexy one day, and the next you're kind of old and wrinkly and not as good-looking as the nanny. And then you're crying and then you're cancerous. Women. Can't live with them...well. Ha ha. You know the rest.

Anyway, enclosed is a yellow Livestrong bracelet. I hope the dollar I spent on it will help find a cure for your horrible 'disease.' If you're not faking.

Sincerely,

Lance

PS: I do regret that such a nice rack is going to waste, if that is any consolation.