Molly peered around the corner of the cupcake-decorated living room, her eyes darting nervously from the glittering balloons to the troop of sugar-high toddlers. Bill tugged nervously at his black ski mask, which was suddenly feeling much too warm, especially under the fluorescent party lights. “So, remind me again why we’re robbing a kids’ party?” Bill whispered, voice barely audible over the screech of a very determined three-year-old demanding a second slice of cake. Molly gave him a side-eye. “Because, genius, the presents! Have you *seen* how many gifts they stash under that plastic pink unicorn? It’s like Fort Knox, but fluffier.” Bill rubbed his chin. “Yeah, but they’re kids’ presents. What are we gonna do? Pawn a Barbie doll and a set of SpongeBob pajamas?” “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, my skeptical compadre.” Molly grinned, then whispered conspiratorially. “You’d be surprised how much money adults *throw* at crappy toys.” Bill’s brow furrowed. “I’m pretty sure most of those toys are from the dollar store.” Molly sighed dramatically, as if explaining economics to a farm animal. “That’s where you come in, Bill. You’re the master negotiator. We’re gonna swipe the goods before sugar-rushed chaos descends and then flip the whole lot online by tonight.” Bill glanced around again, spotting a crowd of eight small humans circling the unguarded treasure hoard like a pack of tiny, giggling wolves. “Right, and the surprise attack involves what, exactly? Distracting the kids with cupcakes while I loot the pile?” Molly made a face. “No, cupcakes are for us. We can’t risk ruining the goods with frosting.” Bill raised an eyebrow. “Gourmet criminal, huh?” Before Molly could respond, a toddler zoomed past them, brandishing a balloon sword with alarming accuracy. Bill ducked instinctively, which earned him a confused look from the kid and an approving smile from Molly. “Okay, here’s the plan,” Molly continued, pulling out a crumpled piece of notebook paper from her jacket. “I’ll pose as the party clown, which I know is a bit ballsy since I’m allergic to latex and have zero juggling skills, but it’s the perfect distraction.” Bill blinked. “You? Clown? The last time you tried to juggle, you dropped three apples and hit yourself in the face.” “That’s because those were apples, and juggling’s hard, okay? But balloons? Easy-peasy. I’ve been practicing.” She brandished a handful of twisted balloon animals, some more balloon and less animal. “You do realize those balloons are more likely to pop and scare the kids into a frenzy?” Bill said skeptically. “Trust me, if I survive the latex, their attention is all mine. Meanwhile, you sneak under the table and grab everything you can.” Bill scanned the room again. “Here’s hoping no one spots me crawling beneath a sea of half-eaten sandwiches and spilled juice boxes.” Molly nodded emphatically. “No one will notice you. By the way, I checked—the kids’ parents are glued to their phones, and the birthday girl is currently obsessed with pinning the tail on the donkey.” Bill whistled softly. “High stakes, high reward.” “Exactly. And remember, if anyone asks, we’re the weird entertainment,” Molly quipped. Bill smirked. “Yeah, because ‘professional thieves dressed as party clowns’ sounds totally normal.” Suddenly, a tiny hand grabbed Molly’s skirt. She froze. The birthday girl looked up at her, eyes wide with admiration. “Are you the party jester?” Bill whispered urgently, “Abort mission?” Molly gulped, then smiled broadly. “Close enough. Just your friendly neighborhood clown!” The kid giggled and tugged at Bill’s sleeve. He whimpered softly as Molly’s balloon sword gleamed under the fluorescent party lights. “Okay, let’s get this job done,” Molly muttered. Bill nodded. “For birthdays and booty.” And with that, the Great Children’s Party Caper began, one balloon at a time.