Molly and Bill sat hunched over a faulty map of the park where the children's party was to take place, plotting their caper. "Okay, so we hotwire the Rolls over here," Bill jabbed a finger at the map. "Drive up in style, you know, no the wiser, yeah?" Molly scowled. "Brilliant plan, Einstein. Except how the hell do two middle aged adults get invited to a preschooler's party without raising suspicion? They're gonna think we're a pair of old perverts." "Ah, leave that to me, darling. I've got a cunning disguise picked out." Bill produced a hideous outfit - a pink tutu, polka dot tights, and a garish clown mask. "You're fucking kidding me. No way am I traipsing around in that eyesore." "Why not? We'll fit right in - all the kiddies in wacky Birthday Sue costumes. We'll use it to blend in, see?" "And then what? Sneak into the gift pile, stuff it in our cummerbunds, and do the monster mash out of there?" "Well, when you say it like that…" "So what's your brilliant exit strategy then, Ringo? Stage a coup? A modulated air strike?" "Nah, nah, much simpler - we pinch the presents, distract the birthday girl with this." He produced a bedazzled Xbox controller. "Before anyone knows what hit 'em, we toss the goods in the Rolls and do a getaway. Stealthy-like." "Yeah, right. And that'll go over great with the boozed-up dads. Good one, you old pudding snatcher." "Hey, have a little faith - it's a solid plan!" Molly threw up her hands in disgust. "You're dreaming. The whole thing stinks to high high heaven - this is a crap job. I don't care if that electrified Picasso ornament is worth a small fortune." "Suit yourself, you old harpy," Bill huffed. "More for my share then." "Bloody 'ell. Since when do I get a glass jaw? If I wanted to get punked on, I'd revive my indiscreet history with the Mrs. Danvers knitting club." "Now who's being a drama queen?" "Give me strength," Molly groaned, burying her face in her hands. "What have we gotten ourselves into?" Christopher Robin, the birthday boy of the day, strolled over, grinning. "Hey there Mister and Mrs. Not-My-Parents," he said suspiciously. "What's this, like, a "day of rest" for the elves or something? My mom said Quinnie-Q's elf ran off to a casino with a showgirl to get hitched." Bill's eyes widened in fear. "Ah, jolly good question! You see, chum. We were planning on taking a, um, a holiday! Yes, a well-earned holiday this December to thaw out and enjoy some, um, warm milk to share across the hearth." Christopher Robin gave a disapproving shake of his head. "Riiight. Sure thing, Creeper Claus." As Christopher Robin ambled away, Molly turned to Bill in a rage. "I told you this was a bad idea!" she hissed. "Now, between his 40,000 IQ and us trying to pull off being gyrating 6 year olds, this whole thing is shot to shit." "Look, don't get your knickers in a twist. Let's just focus on one thing - those expensive presents. We'll be the most underappreciated celebrity burglars in the world one way or another." He said desperately. "Don't worry, Bill. In fact I guarantee this impishteen will write a memoir on this 'caper'."