"You sure about this, Bill?" Molly chewed on the end of her bright green pen, squinting at the blueprint spread across the rickety kitchen table. "Sneaking into a kids' birthday party? Seems a tad...beneath us." Bill, his mop of brown curls bouncing, gestured flamboyantly at the outline of the "cautiously staged fun zone" with his eyebrow raised. "Beneath us? Molly, darling, this is a goldmine! We're talking brand new dolls, the latest gaming consoles, enough LEGOs to build a small metropolis. It's a cornucopia of goodies ripe for the plucking! Besides, think of the entertainment value. Screaming toddlers, bewildered parents, a clown chasing after us with a squeaky balloon...pure comedic gold!" Molly snorted. "You're obsessed with the balloon clown bit. Are you thinking about another private viewing? Last time, the garden gnome incident escalated quicker than-" "That was artistic expression, Molly! A commentary on consumerism and the disillusionment of childhood!" Bill puffed out his chest. "And the gnome? A priceless antique, I assure you. In possession of a canonball collection, no less." "Right, right," Molly said, unconvinced. "But this time, let's try subtlety. We're ghosts, almost. Apparition-like, if you will. In and out, no balloons misplaced." Bill leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That's where you come in, my dearest. You've mastered the art of disguise. You'll be the life of the party, working that karaoke machine before disappearing into the gift mountain with the loot." "Karaoke?" Molly's eyebrows shot up. "Bill, darling, even *my* talents have limits." Bill grinned, pulling a pair of oversized pink sunglasses from his pocket and draping them over his nose. "Nonsense! We'll find the perfect microphone bunny ears headband for you. You'll be Mariah Carey under the cover of an inflatable castle. Come on, Molly, embrace the ridiculousness! Think of the possibilities: presents, fame, possibly a lifetime supply of juice boxes!" Molly sighed, unable to help but crack a smile. "Juice boxes," she muttered, "fine. But just until I find my fleeting five minutes of karaoke-fueled fame."