‘Oh dear,’ the old lady says. ‘Do I smell poo poo?’ Bonnie screams louder as the old lady invades her personal space by putting her hand on her crotch and giving it a very hard squeeze. What the hell does she think she is doing?

‘I feel a poo poo,’ she says, as Bonnie kicks her right in the face. I only have one boob in the bra when the old lady falls through the curtain and into my dressing room.

‘NO!’ I yell, as I see blood pouring from her nose.

‘Help me, help me,’ the old lady screams. I look at her on the floor. Despite my half naked state, I feel a surprising lack of self-awareness. I’d take my body over her decrepit old one any day. It’s unusual for me to feel one-upmanship on anything involving my physical appearance. I rather like the feeling. I cover myself before multiple other old ladies rush to her aid. I get myself dressed, grab all the bras and tights and quickly leave the changing room. I’ll pay for them all, and try them on at home.

‘You need to teach that child some respect,’ one of the grannies shouts after me. I turn around and march straight back over to the cubicle.

‘Some respect?’ I repeat, to the three-strong gaggle of geriatrics nursing the perverted one’s nose. ‘You grabbed my daughter’s crotch and she quite rightly kicked you in the face.’

‘I was checking her nappy,’ she says, all breathy, hurt and offended in that way old people get when they are out of order but think everyone should let them off because they’re ancient. Well not me.

‘I’ve told her since she was old enough to understand me, that if anyone she doesn’t know or likes goes anywhere near her crotch she is to do whatever it takes to get them off. Old men, young boys and nosey old bags included. You deserve that bloody nose and I hope you’re sorry,’ I say firmly. The women stare at me as if I am a dinosaur and running for their lives is pointless.

‘SECURITY,’ calls one of them, like a damsel in distress who can’t fight her own battles. Stupid old ladies.

‘I didn’t touch you,’ I say confidently. ‘You touched my daughter and she defended herself. What are you going to do, have them arrest her? Or will I tell them that you grabbed my little girl’s vagina?’

‘How dare you,’ the bloody-nosed old witch says to me.

‘No, lady, how dare you! Up yours!’ I say.

When we eventually get in the queue to pay, a pungent smell of poo lingering around us, Bonnie has calmed down. I kneel down to her level.