Molly perused the invitation adorned with cartoon balloons, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Ever think about partying at a toddler's paradise?" she teased, fingers drumming on the sticky sandwich countertop. Bill leaned against the vending machine, his grin stretching over wrinkles and wild ideas, "As long as it’s free, sign me up." They eyed blueprints of the estate, the decorated hall screaming a non-stop, sticky-fingered festivity. "The playroom’s perfect, underestimated security," Molly noted with a schemer's nod. Bill snorted, his chuckle echoing amidst slick magazine pages, "Tell me about it. Those candies will go directly to the diet department—figuratively speaking." Molly chuckled, her voice a symphony of whispers, "Just think of the traffic jam as a natural roped barrier." Their scheme was hatched over musings of cotton candy and pizza. "What about the Santa hat-clad conversationalists?" babbled Bill, his unease barely hidden. Molly quipped, “You dress like you know every Disney tune by heart. They’ll dance us right off their hands.” With the plan set, they both drank in the scene before them, a day of joyous chaos, masked by their shadowy, gin-soaked grins. -----