"Okay, so we infiltrate the party... easy part," Molly said, sketching on a napkin. "The real trick is getting past the bounce house." "Bounce house? Really?" Bill scoffed. "What kind of party are we hitting, a toddler's birthday?" "Don't underestimate the bounce house, Bill." Molly tapped her pencil. "They're like fortresses of inflatable joy, practically designed to keep out adults." "So we're not going in as adults? What, with fake moustaches and a story about a lost puppy?" "No, you absolute nincompoop. We go in as clowns. Guaranteed to blend right in." "Clowns? Molly, you're insane. I'm not wearing a red nose and giant shoes." "Fine, then be the sad clown. The one with the sad face and the sad music. You know, the one everyone avoids?" Bill let out a loud sigh. With a defeated shrug, he said, "You're going to make me a sad clown, aren't you?" "Oh, you'll be the happiest sad clown ever," Molly laughed. "Just picture it: everyone's too busy yelling about the clown that's making them cry to notice us scooping up presents." "You really think this will work?" "Wouldn't be doing it if I didn't, Bill." "You're a crazy one, Molly. A crazy, hilarious one." "I hear that a lot." Molly shrugged. "Now, let's find a good place to buy two clown costumes. And some cheap, sad music."