Molly and Bill sat on a park bench, peering intently at a map of the local neighborhood. It was already dark outside, the moon casting long shadows across the pavement. "So, moonlight's on our side tonight," said Molly, with a smirk. "That's the perfect time to snatch those shiny presents." Bill adjusted his glasses, pointing at a two-story nursery house on the map. "Dunno why they don't gift presents that require decoding or skylights instead." "Yeah, my uncle would've gotten an award for that 'closest to the ground' present in his class. Pessimistic, classic Uncle Bob," Molly retorted, folding her legs. "But enough about him. Let's focus—" "—On us breaking into this place," Bill finished. "First, we'll have to slide a remote control magnet onto the control system." Molly leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "No need to be so blatant about it. Maybe put it in Mr. Jenks' always sleepy jacket pocket." "Asking for trouble," said Bill. "We could improvise. A little sound effect maybe?" "Like a kid screaming after spotting the dog in human form? Pure gold," Molly approved with a chuckle. They both paused, considering the musical sounds of a well-done heist. "Let's just say jazz, with a wrench twist," Bill mused aloud. "Get the kids excited, not scared." Molly nodded. "And while we wait for them to come running, we should brush up on our stealthy arts." "Mind losing an hour or two to some sleight-of-hand tutorials?" Bill asked, picking up his tablet. "I might as well have a plan B." "Deal," she said cheerily. "Also, we're going to empty the jammies closet. Clothes make the good robbers, not the bad ones." Bill grinned playfully at Molly. "Not unless you're up for doing a catwalk like Gaga." "Imagine me, tiny velvet package wrapping a whole fortune. Less chance of being spotted, more fun. Count me in." "Alright then, step one: Mrs. Green's midnight irresistible green belt—or better yet, her fidget spinner collection!" Bill shuddered at his stereotyping. Molly laughed. "Good one. I'll find her spare jammies under the carpet in the guest room." They exchanged a look of mutual understanding and steeling themselves for a night they'd frame as the most memorable their kid's birthday had ever seen. "Maybe we can rig the ice-cream truck to honk louder than a Zamboni on the final lap," Molly suggested, ruthlessly kicking a stone across the path. "Ah, original indeed. Let's hope those party planners think a little less on the heavens and a bit more on the ground." Their playful banter carried them to the doorstep, preparing to dance with the shadows, their purloined fortunes unseen, bound by the thrill of the great escapade.