“WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE,” my 3-year-old daughter shouted as if filming a scene in a Mission Impossible movie. We couldn’t. We were trapped between a salesclerk drowning in cologne and college students. They couldn’t decide between the shirt exposing their breasts or a skirt that left little to the imagination. My head was spinning. I couldn’t see the exit. The room was not built for a stroller. I kept bumping into metal racks. Muscle shirts were falling to the ground like autumn leaves. The room was dark. Bulbs meant for Light Bright dangled from the ceiling illuminating nothing. My eardrums were vibrating to the beat of blaring…