I hadn’t found myself a target of public aggression since pub crawl days. I certainly wasn’t expecting a verbal stoush in the childrenswear department of Target. A week later, I’m still feeling rattled. (Why do I take things to heart?)

It was mid-afternoon and the shop floor was quiet. I was rifling through the flannelette pyjamas, searching for pink or purple ones for my 4-year-old. (She’ll only wear a two-tone palette).

Somewhere nearby, a toddler was coughing uncontrollably – a raspy bark that set my teeth on edge. In between hacks, I could hear his attempts to suck in a lungful of air, only to choke on another volley of coughs.