Molly sat across from Bill in a cozy booth at the back of the diner, her plate piled high with pancakes. She took a sip of her coffee and let out an exaggerated groan. "I don't know, Bill. This sounds a bit risky. What if we get caught in the act of stealing from children?" Bill shrugged, his mouth full of bacon. "We'll be fast, slick, and disappear into the night. Besides, it's not like we're robbing an orphanage or something." Molly rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. It's just that... maybe we should look for an easier target." "Easier targets come with easier security systems," Bill argued, “and we're talking about a gingerbread house here, not Fort Knox.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned in closer. "Look, Molly, we've been planning this for months. We've scoped out the place, studied the routines, and even planted some false information about a rival crew. This is our chance to score big and retire to a tropical island." Molly sighed, unsure. "Okay, Bill. I guess you have a point. But let's not forget the old adage: 'it's not the size of the target that matters, it's the skill of the thief.'"