BLASTED! Foiled Again!

My daddy has insisted it is necessary to keep me out of the kitchen. Supposedly, the kitchen is dangerous and I must be barred from the place unless confined to my highchair. Yesterday, he installed a gate to keep me out. I've had no say in this decision. I can't understand why he and Mommy can't cook while I'm at their feet or attempting to climb on them, the cabinets, stove, chairs, table, highchair, etc. The blue flame on the stove that comes on sometimes is fascinating and I need to be in the kitchen to point at it and let people know that it is, what Mommy and Daddy call, “hot.” Where are my rights? I've prepared some words for Daddy and I'd like to share them with all of you.

Daddy, if you seek peace and quiet, if you seek a place for me to learn about the small blue fire on the stove top, how the refrigerator door opens and shuts, and to explore the rich and fun noise-making contents inside the cabinets; if you seek liberalization for all in the kitchen: Come here to this gate! Daddy, open this gate! Daddy, tear down this wall!

One reason I need to be in the kitchen is so that I can make my great-grandmother, Ge, a birthday cake for her 92nd birthday.  Honestly, I would make her a cake if I could.  It would be easy.  I'd pat it, roll it, mark it with a 'G,' and put it in the oven for Ge and me.  Ninety-two candles would be really hot and awesome to look at.  Happy Birthday, Ge!  I love you very much.