Molly checked the blueprints spread out on the coffee table, her eyes scanning the intricately drawn layout of the Play-Doh Playland event space. Bill sat across from her, sipping from a giant glass of punch and making a face as if it was the worst thing he'd ever tasted. "The frosting on the cake is straight up deadly," Bill said, his eyes watering. "What's the point of frosting anyway? It's just sugar and fat." "Just go with it, Bill," Molly said, her voice muffled by her reading glasses. "We need the sugar highs to keep us going.") "And what about the bounce house?" Bill asked, pointing to the colorful inflatable castle in the corner of the diagram. "She's going to send us running right into it." "Oh, don't be such a worrywart," Molly said, waving her hand dismissively. "We'll be in and out before the birthday kid even knows we're there. Besides, I've studied the schedule. The kids are playing pin-the-tail on the donkey from three to five, and I've timed it with our entry. We'll make our move right when the smoke signals." "Smoke signals?" Bill repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You mean like, a smoke bomb or something?" Molly nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! I've got a buddy who owes me one, and he's got a sweet setup. We'll escape out the door, and we'll be long gone before the party's even started." Bill snorted. "You think a smoke bomb is going to get us out of a crowd of screaming five-year-olds?" Molly shot him a stern look. "Don't question my methods, Bill. I've been planning this for weeks. I know what I'm doing." "Okay, okay, don't get your jelly bean socks in a twist," Bill said, holding up his hands in a defensive position. "I'll trust your expertise. But what about the presents? Have you accounted for the wrapped ones in the storage closet?" "Of course I have," Molly said, gesturing grandly to the diagram. "I've even color-coded them. Red for the expensive stuff, green for the cheap crap, and yellow for the ones with built-in batteries but no candy inside." Bill raised an eyebrow. "Yellow? What's the criteria for that one?" Molly shrugged. "Don't ask me, I didn't make the rules. But I'm guessing it's those kinds of presents that nobody wants anyway." Bill shook his head, his expression a mixture of awe and horror. "You're a genius, Molly. A mastermind. A—" Molly cut him off with a swat to the arm. "Shh! We're in the planning phase, not the tribute. Now let's get moving – we have a party to crash." With a flourish, Molly gathered the plans and stuffed them into a large satchel, revealing a tiny walkie-talkie and a vial of what looked suspiciously like lemon juice. "What's that?" Bill asked, pointing to the lemon juice. Molly winked. "My emergency get-out-of-fudge-getaway juice. When all else fails, we spray it everywhere. Trust me, it's a game-changer." Bill raised an eyebrow. "That's... quite a plan. But what if it doesn't work?" Molly just grinned. "Then we improvise. And that's where your fancy-pants actor training comes in, right?" Bill looked down at his sneakers. "Uh... what?" Molly just chuckled and whispered, "It's top-secret, Bill. Don't worry about it for now."