THAT’S it. I’m suing Rosie O’Donnell for personal injury.

Because of her I was nearly trampled to death in an office riot when her homemade chocolates arrived yesterday. It’s just by the will of God that I’m not dead. Or in a chocolate coma.

It all began on Sunday when I wrote a column about how Martha Stewart ruined my Thanksgiving by putting a 27-ton homemade chocolate turkey on the cover of her magazine. I said she made me (and you and all of us) look like home crafting losers.

Then I made the big mistake – I finished up the column by saying that since Rosie was just like the rest of us, she’d only melt chocolate if she forgot that a Hershey Bar was in her pocket.

Did I know the woman has her own crafting room in her house? Did I know she harbors a secret need to craft that goes beyond (way beyond) your everyday lanyard? Who knew she had her own chocolate melting kit?

How could I make a mistake of this magnitude when I know that home crafting is as genetically encoded in female genes as male pattern baldness?

You can call me a loser in love, a mess in a dress, even make public my private life, and I’ll get through it. But don’t say I can’t home craft with the best of ’em.

Rosie clearly feels the same way because she retaliated – right on her show yesterday. She said she was reading my column, yukking it up, when she saw it. The chocolate challenge. She told a shocked nation that she went right home and took action.

She made chocolate things. She toiled through the night – melting, shaping, crushing.

Then she called me herself and said a basket of her homemade wares was on its way. “Say anything you want about me – but don’t say I’m not crafty!” cried Rosie.

The basket arrived – complete with ribbons made of Hershey wrappers. The card read, “Linda – All with Hershey Bars as the main ingredient. I is crafty. I is! (ò) Rosie”

Why? For the same reason that I went into a three-day home crafting frenzy after being abused on the road with the presidential candidates.

I didn’t melt chocolate – I distressed furniture until I collapsed. In fact, when the love interest walked in and saw the carnage, he thought a pervert had taken a chain to the entertainment unit. He was right. That’s exactly what I did, just before streaking milk paint all over it.

So, was I right about Rosie being just like the rest of us? You bet.

Martha doesn’t know from Hersheys. The rampaging Post staff even declared her chocolate goodies better than Godiva. They don’t do corn flakes. Or Rice Crispies.

I’m hoping to be invited on her show to show my distressing techniques.