"Okay, Molly, so let me get this straight. We're crashing a bunch of five-year-olds’ birthday parties to steal presents? Are you sure about this plan?" "Bill, do you know how many toys are at these things? Enough to retire on for twenty lifetimes. Plus, no security except glue traps and maybe a tired mom yelling, 'No, Tommy!'" "Right, because nothing screams 'professional heist' like sneaking past a toddler throwing a tantrum over a spilled juice box." "That’s why we’re going in at the optimal time—when the cake distraction phase hits. Everyone’s blind to anything but frosting and questionable party hats." "So, the cake is our... smoke bomb?" Bill grinned, imagining a chocolate grenade. "What’s our entry point? The front door's likely covered in a fortress of tiny plastic chairs and possibly rogue balloons." "We'll use the side window. It’s usually left unlocked because, you know, children and parental paranoia about emergencies." Molly pulled out a crumpled party invitation. "This says party starts at two. We hit right at two-fifteen—after the initial chaos but before the singing of that ‘Happy Birthday’ song. I hate that song." "Good plan. But what about the parents? They’re usually hovering like eagle parents on speed." "Molly shrugged. "That's why we're disguised. I got us matching clown outfits. Complete with noses. We blend right in—plus, we can claim to be hired entertainment if anyone asks." Bill snorted. "You really think this is going to work? Because last time you said 'blend in,' we nearly got arrested for stealing a garden gnome wearing a tutu." "This is different. Children’s parties are battlefields of lost attention spans and sugar highs. We’re the predators in a playground jungle." "So, step one: ‘Enter as clowns’, step two: ‘Dodge sugar-fueled chaos’, step three: ‘Secure the loot’. What's step four—get out without tripping over discarded presents and rogue helium balloons?" "Exactly. And watch out for the party favors. Last time, I nearly choked on a glow stick." Bill glanced at their mismatched red-and-yellow costumes they'd found at a thrift store. "Honestly, we could be suffering from a severe sugar crash before we even make it to the presents." "The risk of a sugar crash is part of the thrill." Molly grabbed a squirting flower from her pocket and made it spray Bill. "Besides, think about it. We walk out with a haul of Batman action figures, princess dolls, and maybe that fancy remote-controlled truck Tommy bragged about." Bill wiped his face, chuckling. "Remote-controlled truck or not, how do we carry all that? Kids’ presents are tiny but numerous. We aren’t exactly packing army rucksacks." "We’re going light but effective. We have our stashes inside the oversized clown shoes. They’re ridiculously big. No one questions it. Plus, the balloon animals to distract the hosts while we pocket the goods." "And what about the grand finale? The moment when the birthday kid inevitably decides to sit on our faces because they think clowns are fun?" "Ah, the finale. That's why we have escape routes planned. Also, Bill, you’re the one practicing your balloon animal tutorial on YouTube." Bill groaned. "I’m not even good at making toast, and you expect me to make a giraffe out of latex tubes under pressure?" "Practice makes perfect, Mr. Reluctant Clown. Think of it like stealing from the rich but much, much tinier." He sighed then grinned. "Alright, Molly. Let’s do this. The Great Birthday Heist. Because ninjas are overrated." "Exactly. Plus, clowns never get caught. Mostly because people are too busy crying to notice." Bill rubbed his hands together. "Alright, just one question before we bounce—do we get cake?" "You get cake if you don’t ruin the plan by screaming at any point." Molly winked and twirled her fake wig. "Now, let's clown around."