Incongruity, thy name is child

Last night at the store, Sam was came with me to spend the last of his money from his Montana trip. Getting bored in the produce section, he decided to shimmy down and lay on his tummy in the space under the cart (where you carry big things). This particular cart had long wire slats rather than a wire grid and he somehow got both his knees wedged down in between the slats and couldn't get them back through. The next five minutes had us both on the floor, with him howling in pain and me trying to pull the slats further apart, straightening his knees, twisting him to the side, etc. to no avail while visions of the Roy City fire department having to saw the cart in half danced in my head. Eventually, with the help of a few concerned fellow shoppers, we twisted him just right and got him out. As he dried his tears, I thanked his rescuers (both middle aged women who went away good-naturedly snickering). I turned to Sam and spoke over his post-sobbing, gaspy breaths and said "We're not going to sit under the cart anymore okay?" He looked at me in astonishment (tears still lingering in his eyes) and said "WHY??"

(deep breath)