Sun slanted through the sheer curtains, weaving golden threads across Molly’s cluttered living room, catching the edge of a half-eaten bagel and lighting up a whiteboard cluttered with scribbles and stick figures masked in black ski caps. The board was propped carefully on an easel, front and center like it was preparing to give a TED Talk on thievery. Bill squinted at the board as he delicately peeled off his purple gloves—today’s color choice. “Why children’s parties?” he grumbled, plopping down on an inflatable dolphin which squeaked beneath him, ever ready for beach-themed escapades. “Seems low.” Molly flapped her hands, a rapid bat-like motion that failed to convey her usual authority. “Low? Low?? Bill, think of the loot! Limited edition princess dolls, the latest Robo-Pup 3000s, and oh, the action figures these days—practically collector’s items right off the shelf!” Bill snatched a carrot stick from a veggie platter, stale from yesterday’s snack preparation. “Feels like we’re Santa in reverse. Sneaking around, grabbing gifts. Just the naughty list for us?” “Exactly!” she exclaimed, jabbing a finger at him as if he’d stumbled upon the meaning of life instead of a minor felony detail. “We’re liberating those presents from the tyranny of over-privileged toddlers.” Bill chommed through his carrot, unimpressed. “How do you even liberate a Sneaky Snail Slam Dunk Hoop?” “With cunning and dexterity, old chum!” Molly leaned forward, her eyes lighting up like she’d just invented the wheel—or at least reinvented it for nefarious purposes. On her lap, a tuxedo cat yawned, supremely unconcerned with the moral implications of their conversation. “Alright, walk me through this master plan of yours.” Bill glanced at the whiteboard again, trying to make sense of the chaos that was Molly’s handwriting and crude diagrams. Molly clapped her hands and darted to the board. “Step one: infiltrate. We pose as entertainers! You still got that clown costume?” “Burned it after the Great Poodle Balloon Incident,” Bill muttered. “No matter! We’ll go as magicians. You distract them with your—let's face it—dubious sleight of hand, while I...” She paused for dramatic effect, flipping over a part of the board to reveal a detailed sketch of the party room. “I handle the real magic.” “Swiping gift bags while I bore them to tears?” Bill arched an eyebrow. “Exactly!” Molly snapped her fingers as though Bill had just recited Shakespeare in its original Klingon. “Step two: exfiltration. We have to be slick, slippery, and not caught.” “Not being caught usually tops my list, yes.” “We'll need a distraction. Something big, something chaotic.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You mean like releasing the ceremonial birthday doves?” Bill’s attempt at sarcasm was marred by the hopeful lift to his voice. Molly’s grin was all the confirmation he needed that the doves were indeed doomed. “See, this is why we make such a great team. Your sarcasm breeds brilliance!” Bill just sighed, leaning back against the vinyl dolphin which let out another protest under his weight. “Brilliance or bird-brained?” “Semantics, darling.” Molly was already scribbling a new phase involving avian accomplices. “Now, pull out your wand, Harry Houdini. We’ve got a party to plan!”