The sticky residue on the table was indistinguishable from melted birthday cake, but to Molly, it smelled suspiciously like regret. "Bill, are you sure about this?" she asked, peering at the sprawling map of the suburban mansion laid out before them. It was cluttered with crayon-drawn caricatures of partygoers - a group of grinning, sticky-fingered children all sporting an alarming number of unicorn horns adorning their heads and heads of colorful balloons. Bill, a man whose attire always seemed two steps away from a retirement home fashion show, swirled the tiny plastic dinosaur toy in his hand. "Of course I'm sure, Molly. This operation is going to be positively elementary. A walk in the park." They were sitting at a picnic table in a dimly lit corner of the park, shrouded by dark trees and a single flickering streetlamp. Molly eyed the dinosaur, wondering if Bill had swiped it from the very birthday party they were planning to infiltrate. "Elementary, you say?" she snorted. "And last time I checked, parks weren't full of bouncing castles and disgruntled babysitters. Not exactly a typical playground environment." Bill puffed out his chest, a feat that seemed impossible given the generous accumulation of belly hanging over his plaid shirt. "Details, details. We'll be in and out before the first slice of cake is served. We'll blend right in, disguise ourselves as party clowns, chaos ensues, presents vanish, and bam! We're outta there." Molly stared at him, incredulous. "Bill, clowns are terrifying. You think I want to be standing next to someone who applies makeup with the dexterity of a drunk octopus? Besides, have you seen the size of those presents? We'd need a small army of reindeer to haul them out." He grabbed another plastic toy from a bag bulging with trinkets - a bouncy ball, this time - and launched it into the air. "Ah, that's where you're wrong. These are children's presents, Molly. We're not looking for grand pianos or wrestling robots. These are comparatively lightweight, easily transportable, and filled with sugary treats!" Molly sighed, massaging her temples. "Bill, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but telling me 'comparatively lightweight' doesn't exactly inspire confidence. And what about the parents? What about the cake?" Bill paused, his smile faltering slightly. "The cake," he muttered, "is a potential liability. We'll need a distraction." He hummed to himself, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as Molly’s expression grew more and more forlorn. This wasn’t going to be easy.