“It all started about the time I could talk. . .yeah. . .about the time I could talk. My mommy would introduce me to someone, and they’d say “aaahh, Michelle, what a lovely name!” And I’d say, “It’s Rachelle.” And they’d say, “Oh. Rochelle.” And I’d say, “No. I said Rachelle. Ruuuhhh Shelllll. Rachelle.” And they’d shake their head.

Then I started school. I knew it was coming. The teacher would be almost to my name on the list. “Is Rachel present?” they’d ask. And I’d say, “it’s Rachelle.” And they’d say, “I’m sorry, what?” And I’d say “it’s pronounced Rachelle.” And they’d say, “Oh. Rochelle, except with an a,” And I’d say, “No. It’s Rachelle, ruuuhhh shellll.” And they’d say. “Oh. okay, well then, ahemm is So and So here.”

You’d think I’d be over it by now. You know, just let it go. Be used to it. But no, rather it’s become this obsession. I hate it when people get my name wrong. Hate it. And it’s made me extremely careful with other people’s names. I’ve finally decided it’s a matter of respect. If people really care then they’ll make an effort to get your name right, right?”

~Rachelle, The Rachelle Ring