In the dimly lit corner of a seedy bar, Molly and Bill nursed their drinks. The clink of glasses and muffled chatter surrounded them. "You sure about this, Molly?" Bill asked, wiping his sweaty brow. "Kids' parties, Bill. We're talking about tiny hands and melted chocolate." Molly rolled her eyes. "Relax, Bill. It's not like they'll have a state-of-the-art security system. It's just a bunch of kids and a few old folks." Bill sighed. "Right, and don't forget the parents. They're always the worst. Never trust a parent with a party." Molly smirked. "We'll avoid them like the plague. Now, listen. We'll sneak in through the backyard, pose as caterers, and make our way to the presents. We'll be in and out before anyone notices." Bill took a deep breath. "Alright, but if we get caught, I'm blaming you." Molly laughed. "Deal. Now, let's get drunk on this fica and plot our escape route." They clinked glasses again, sealing their pact. The night was young, and the party was ripe for the picking.