The small, dimly lit kitchen became their makeshift headquarters. The floral wallpaper peeled at the corners, and the faint smell of burnt toast lingered in the air as Molly perched on the edge of the chipped, wooden table, a mischievous glint in her eye. “So, Bill, are you in?” Molly asked, her voice barely containing her excitement. “In? You had me at ‘children’s party,’” Bill chuckled, adjusting his ski cap for dramatic effect. “What’s the plan, genius?” “Simple. We’ll blend in as clowns,” Molly said, holding up two garishly bright clown wigs. “We’re performers for the party. Easy access.” Bill took one of the wigs, turning it over in his hands. “What if they ask for a show? I can only juggle one ball, maybe two on a good day.” Molly snorted. “It’s a kids’ party, Bill, not a Vegas show. Just fall over a few times. Kids love that sort of thing.” “Right, right. Slapstick it is.” Bill stuffed the wig into his pocket. “And once we’re in?” Molly leaned forward, excitement bubbling in her whisper. “We distract ‘em with balloon animals. I’ve been practicing poodles and swords.” “You’ve been practicing poodles?” Bill raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “Well, swords are easier, but you can only make so many of those before parents get jumpy.” “Fair point. So, balloon fun, distractions... then what?” “We split up. You take the presents by the cake table, and I’ll handle the ones in the corner by the punchbowl,” Molly explained. Bill began to mimic her plan with exaggerated gestures. “And then we just waltz out the door, big bags in hand, like Santa getting an early start?” “Exactly. Our great escape,” Molly said triumphantly. “Let’s just hope we don’t get stuck halfway up the chimney,” Bill joked, leaning back and crossing his arms. Molly grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ve accounted for the chimneys.” “Of course you have,” Bill laughed, clapping his hands in delight. “You never miss a detail, do you?” “That’s why you keep me around,” Molly replied, mock-bowing from her seat. “So, what’s our exit strategy?” Bill asked, suddenly serious. “We return to the clown car, strategically parked around the block, full getaway mode.” “A clown car? Really? Isn’t that a bit cliché?” Molly shrugged with a playful glint in her eyes. “Who’s expecting clowns to make a quick escape? Plus, it’s a hatchback. Roomy.” Bill tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Alright, I’m sold. It’s foolproof. As long as no one questions why the clowns are sprinting off with colorful bags.” “If they do,” Molly said, winking, “we’ll just say we’re in a rush to the clown convention.” Bill clapped his hands together. “And when everyone’s distracted by cake and crying over missed presents, we’ll be laughing all the way to the bank—or eBay.” “Exactly!” Molly exclaimed, ready for the challenge. “It’ll be the heist of the season.” “Alright, partner in crime, let’s paint those smiles,” said Bill, slipping the wig back on his head. “With extra giggles and a pinch of chaos,” Molly agreed, both falling into comically solemn expressions before bursting into laughter. Their next escapade awaited.