YOU'VE WON THIS ROUND, WAL-MART.

Byline: The world according to JACUZZI

My face was flushed, my nose red, my brain fogging over. I was feeling lost, faint and wondering what on Earth was wrong with me.

It wasn't the first time I had felt this way shopping in Wal-Mart.

I've found that I can go there any time of the day or night, and within a half-hour end up feeling the same way. Buggy, dopey, lost and confused.

Was I becoming such a hard-core liberal that merely being in the presence of big corporate America was affecting me physically?

One day recently, I happened to casually broach the topic with a friend. ``I know exactly what you're talking about,'' she said. ``I'm allergic to any store that sells cheap stuff.'' She was dead serious. Turns out, she probably has what's called ``multiple chemical sensitivity,'' a very real physical problem that affects many, many people.

Wal-Mart, like many stores of its sort that sell ``cheap stuff'' like manufactured plastic and synthetics, is chock full of chemical irritants. The merchandise sits on the shelves and its noxious aromas infiltrate people's systems.

But for me, the Wal-Mart ill goes beyond the chemical-laden atmosphere, the shadowless lighting, the soft woozy music. Let's say I want to buy just two simple things: PMS pills and chocolate chip cookies. I fear I will go into the store and get lost and end up spending an hour or two and about $100 before I'm finished.

Somewhere, I imagine, there are Ivy League graduates working for Sam Walton who want me to get lost. They have doctorates in the behavior of the female brain and know exactly how to construct the store so I get confused.

First, I am greeted by a smiling senior, maybe a long-lost grandparent or a favorite kindergarten teacher, who wants to put a sticker on my lapel. There's a deliberate impression they want to give me: I am welcomed. I am home. I belong.

I am ushered by the first onslaught of items touted to be on sale. How long has it been since I played Yahtzee, I think to myself. Too long. Too long. I pick up a game board - $9.99 for all that nostalgia and the pleasure of rousing the spirit of my dead Uncle Mo, who used to play it with me. Priceless.

Next, I move in the direction of my PMS pills. I come upon a display of nail polish on sale for a third of the usual cost. I haven't polished my nails in six years, and it's about time to take it up again. I can reclaim my youth for 99 cents. I can reclaim it in an inexpensive acrylic base and a color called watermelon. How delicious.

I finally find the PMS pill assortment and I reach for the 50-pound tub because it's .08 cents cheaper per 100 pills, or something along those lines. I begin to wander. I feel lost. My thoughts are growing thin. I find myself staring at a sale display for 3-foot-high Barbie Rapunzels. She's a sight to behold. Who says injection molding isn't art?

Finally, I make my way to the checkout. I start feeling remorse over what I see myself lifting onto the counter. (Yahtzee? Am I crazy?) I realize I never did find the cookies, which I wanted more than anything else. I get home, try to air myself out. I've saved money, hypothetically, but somehow I've still spent ``More for Less'' and it's cost me $100. Gotta hand it to Sam Walton.