"Okay, so you're sure these presents are actually worth something, right?" Bill nervously tugged at his elf hat, the green tinsel itchy on his forehead. "Bill, it's a six-year-old's birthday party hosted by a hedge fund manager's wife. Those aren't My Little Ponies under that tree. Think diamond-encrusted playsets and solid gold building blocks." Molly grinned, adjusting her sparkly reindeer antlers. "And you think we can get away with this? In these ridiculous outfits?" "Relax, they'll assume we're just...enthusiastic entertainment. Don't forget, you're a former circus clown." "That was one summer! And my career as a mime ended prematurely due to an unfortunate incident with a pigeon." "Exactly! Unpredictability is our greatest asset. Besides, who'd suspect Santa's little helpers?" Molly winked, already picking the lock on the back door with a practiced hand. "Alright, but if a kid asks for my autograph, I'm out." "Deal. Now shush, I hear tiny angels singing 'Happy Birthday'."