“Are you sure about this, Molls? I mean, kids’ parties? Seems a bit… low-hanging fruit, doesn’t it?” Bill scratched his stubble, eyebrows knitted together. He eyed the giant inflatable dinosaur looming over the bouncy castle with suspicion. Molly scoffed, adjusting the tiara perched precariously on her head. “Low-hanging fruit implies it’s easy, buttercup. Have you seen the security setup on this place? Laser grids, motion sensors, enough CCTV cameras to rival Fort Knox. We’re talking about a fortress of fun, and we’re busting through it like a two-person wrecking crew.” “But the presents…” Bill gestured vaguely towards the mountain of brightly wrapped gifts piled beneath a makeshift gazebo. “We’re talking Barbie dolls and action figures. Not exactly the Mona Lisa, are we?” Molly’s grin was sharp as she pulled out a miniature grappling hook from her purse, examining it with an air of scientific scrutiny. “Don’t underestimate the magic of Christmas morning, Bill. Those presents are pure, untapped potential. Think of the joy, the wonder - the sheer chaos we can unleash by redirecting that bounty.” “Chaos?” Bill's voice rose an octave. “Molly, we’re stealing from six-year-olds. Their dentists are going to have a field day with those candy canes.” “Oh relax, grumpy gus,” Molly chuckled, tossing the grappling hook into the air and catching it deftly. “Think bigger picture, my friend. We’re talking about a redistribution of wealth, a Robin Hood situation for toddlers. Except instead of stealing from the rich, we’re stealing from absentee parents who’ll blame everything on an over-tired elf named Jangles.” “Jangles? You got a name for this imaginary elf already?” Bill sighed. Molly winked. “Gotta stay organized, honey. Now, about our approach…” She pointed to the inflatable dinosaur, leaning in conspiratorially. “Think we can make a detour through its digestive tract? Smells suspiciously like cotton candy in there…” Bill grimaced, picturing himself navigating a bouncy, sugary underworld. “Do we have to? Can’t we just cut the fence?” “Boring! Where’s your sense of adventure, Bill? Remember the time we-” “No, let's not reminisce about the Great Hamster Heist of '09. Please.” Bill winced, visibly shuddering. Molly, ever the optimist, patted his arm with a gloved hand. "Come on, Bill. It'll be fun! Think of all the therapists we'll put out of work by the end of this.” She adjusted her tiara once more, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tonight, Bill, we become legends. Not the boring, adulting, tax-paying kind, but the kind that leave a trail of glitter and traumatized clowns in our wake. Are you with me?” Bill, resigned to his fate and already yearning for a stiff drink, sighed. “Alright, fine. But you’re buying the therapy bills afterwards.”