"Alright, Bill, picture this: inflatable castles, shrieking children, mountains of brightly wrapped contraband. It's a sugar-fueled battlefield waiting to be plundered!" Bill eyed her skeptically as he munched on a stale donut. "Molly, you call shoving your face in a pile of wrapped gifts a battlefield?" “Come on, love, where's your sense of adventure? These aren't just any presents, these are birthday treasures nestled in a den of bouncing kids. Think of the loot! Teddy bears, miniature plastic swords, enough cheap plastic toys to build a small village!" "I'm picturing sticky hands and a high chance of getting CPR'd by a birthday dinosaur mascot." She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't be such a grump. We'll be in and out before the cake monster is even unleashed. I've scoped the place out. The fortress has multiple entry points - the backdoor, the sliding window, and a vent promising thrilling claustrophobia." "The vent sounds like a recipe for pneumonia and existential dread, maybe even a dose of forgotten birthday cake crumbs," Bill muttered, spitting out a rogue crumb. "Fine, backdoor it is. We'll be proper ninjas, ghosts in the night. Act natural, blend in with the sugar-crazed paparazzi." Bill snorted. "Blend in? I'm not even sure I can handle the volume of noise without my hearing aids going into meltdown. It's a warzone of high-pitched squeals and birthday song marathons." "Just imagine the profit, Bill! Imagine the caviar and vintage cheddar you could afford!" Bill's eyes widened. "Caviar? Vintage cheddar? You’re speaking my language!" He practically skipped to the map sprawled on the table. "Alright, backdoor it is. But if I catch a whiff of lima beans again, I'm out.”