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Shopping: simply mention the word and women everywhere rise like a phoenix from the ashes. It's true. Retail therapy has done more to raise the collective consciousness and improve the self-esteem of modern women, than Oprah, Dr. Phil and Dr. Drew combined. I mean, let's face it, who needs Prozac when there are credit cards, debit cards, checkbooks and cash? Not only is it "workin' for us," but we don't need rehab either.

Except for me. I hate shopping. Now, don't get me wrong. Like most women, I am a firm believer in the Monroe Doctrine. You know, the one that states diamonds are a girl's best friend? It's just the long lines, crowded parking lots, and those gawdawful mirrors in the dressing rooms that make me a little cranky - not to mention, the rude sales clerks.

Then, there are the unruly children I would like to trip or smack on the back of the head when they rumble and thrash their way through the Misses department, screaming for their mothers; and the seething and oh-so-hostile glowers when I'm overheard hissing at the little urchins, "Your mommy has left you, you little brat, now you're an orphan!"

Cruel, I know, but also extremely satisfying when they run off screaming in an absolute panic.

I can't help it. When they maraud past me like a band of plundering gypsies with their cowlicks and snot running down their noses, my head spins a full 360-degree revolution. Then, before I know it, the most unholy eruption spews forth, right out of my mouth.

It's the darnedest thing.

It's not much better in a grocery store either. No matter what my fruity friends keep trying to tell me. I mean, they actually believe that a grocery store is calming - therapeutic even. Can you imagine? The way they talk, with their little coupons, sale papers and piped in New Age music and everything, you would think they were going there to get their Zen on or something.

But, that hasn't been my experience. In fact, because of grocery stores I am thoroughly convinced that the last frontier of the Wild, Wild West, is still alive and well. Seriously. I have seen a kind of lawlessness and anarchy in the aisles of a grocery store that would horrify even Jessie James and send Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday running for the hills.

It's an inhumane and cruel kind of violence too. The kind that can only come from the belly of the beast, or the darkest places of the heart, if you will. Much like the games in the Roman coliseums or maybe, say, the World Wide Wrestling Federation.

Yeah, I know it's hard

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