Molly and Bill crouched behind a bush, observing the vibrant children's party through binoculars. "So," Molly whispered, "the plan is simple: we go in, grab the presents, and get out before anyone notices." Bill adjusted his fake mustache, saying, "But what if the kids catch us? You know how kids are these days—like tiny detectives." "Bill," Molly sighed, "they're ten. How bad can they be?" "You haven't seen them when they're hopped up on sugar," Bill shuddered. "It's like negotiating with gummy bear-fueled hyenas." "Hyenas or not," Molly said, "we're professionals. We can handle this." A kid dressed as a dinosaur passed by their bush, his plastic tail swishing suspiciously close. Bill flinched and accidentally pressed the button on his walkie-talkie, blaring a loud beep. The child froze and narrowed his eyes. "Now look what you've done!" Molly hissed. "The dino-detective is onto us." "Uh oh," Bill murmured, sweat beading on his brow. "Let's get out of here before the gummy bear brigade finds us." Molly glared at him as the children turned in their direction, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I can't believe we're being outsmarted by ten-year-olds."