It was sad to hear that Ann Romney was wounded in The War On Women. As the wife of the rich Republican presidential candidate, Mrs. Romney was at home when she was carpet-bombed with an accusation that she never worked a day in her life.

But she’s been getting the best possible care. Mrs. Romney has been placed in a hospital ward right next Santa Claus, who suffered grievous damage to his secularis giftum while bravely wearing a bright red suit up front in The War On Christmas.

That these two icons of motherhood and good cheer should have become casualties was only a matter of time.  Santa had it coming, insisting that snowflakes and reindeer should decorate grade school classrooms where not every kid is raised to expect something colorful and plastic from Toys R Us on Christmas morning.

But Mrs. Romney? She was in danger from the opening salvoes of The War On Women. Obviously as the mother of five she missed The War On Fertility, but she is not too old for The War On Moms. Statistically, as a woman, a mother, and maybe even still fertile if she was injected with a lot of drugs, she had a worse chance than a first lieutenant at Normandy.

It’s a nasty war that has pitted woman against woman. Mrs. Romney’s attacker was Hilary Rosen, no stranger to war herself. Rosen is a former executive of The Recording Industry Association of America, which has been waging a take-no-prisoners War On Sharing. Rosen was one of the corporate generals who had dozens of teenagers arrested for swapping around free music on the Internet and saying, “Hey, have you heard Portishead?”

Of course we all know now that The War On Sharing was a diversion to draw attention away from the Bush administration while it waged a War On Science in which carbon dioxide became a harmless gas and climate change a politically inspired myth. At about that time The War On Reason broke out, which, compared to The War On Science, was a little like the Germans setting their sights on Paris shortly after they had taken the Sudetenland.

Some of these misconceptions about science could be straightened out by some good public-school teachers, but they’re all keeping their heads down trying to survive The War On Teachers. The teachers’ lounge has been invaded by politicians who claim Jose’s inability to read is the fault of educated, licensed and supervised teachers rather than state legislators who don’t have to know anything to get their jobs.

When the teachers dove for the bunkers they were already crowded with the doe-eyed prey in The War On Kids, in which the public schools have become the mind-kill zone for our youth. Some of the kids have the sense to just stay home and surf the Internet where The War On Pornography has turned into a rout, much to the delight of 13-year-old boys who might face a future without marriage.

Not only free sex, but same-sex sex have been the shock troops in The War On Marriage, which was not recognized in the days when the 50 percent of heterosexual couples who divorced were considered merely a civil disturbance.

All these wars make you long for the days when America went to war against drugs, poverty and cancer because we are likely to beat them all before we ever get out of Afghanistan. It’s scary in a nation constantly at war. There’s a temptation to go out and buy a gun. But really, who in their right would put themselves in the middle of The War On Guns? That’s a war of words in which you might really get shot.