Under a flickering streetlamp, Molly and Bill crouched behind inflatable lawn decorations at the edge of Maple Drive. A half-deflated unicorn bobbed as they studied the lit windows of a suburban house hosting a children’s birthday party. Balloons floated like planets and sugar-fueled chaos spilled through the curtains. Two thieves armed with cunning and hand sanitizer plotted the most audacious gift heist the neighborhood had never seen. "We slip past the clown and grab the presents before he notices anything else, instantly." Molly passed Bill oversized zebra masks and produced miniature grappling hooks folded like pocket combs. Bill checked a small bag of confetti mines wrapped in cheerful paper. Their scheme balanced on absurdity and precision. Every move needed choreography between sips of spilled cocoa. A distant echo of children screaming for cake drifted through the door. "I’ll distract the kids with noise so you can slip inside and grab the loot." They mapped their entry through the side window, where a flimsy screen promised a silent breach. A colorful paper chain dangled below, almost taunting them with rainbow links. Bill tapped his watch, quietly calculating the party’s sugar high schedule. They only had a five minute window after cake to execute the plan before children crashed in sticky exhaustion. Molly adjusted her glove, heart pounding with giddy anticipation. "What if a kid spots me rifling through their gifts? They’re surprisingly sharp little detectives." A sudden giggle pierced the night. Shadows pranced in the curtains. Molly and Bill shared a glance that combined exhilaration with mild terror. Bill hissed to himself, recalling childhood nightmares about runaway pinatas. Molly smirked, flicking her boot toward a forgotten slice of cake left on the lawn. Their confidence teetered on comedic imbalance. "We’ll wear these oversized masks, blend into the decorations and become invisible to their minds." They peeked through the window slit. Inside, a clown in an elastic costume commanded attention with erratic juggling and rubber chicken commands. Each toss of a wrapped gift felt like a defiant flag. Molly counted the motion patterns, ready to sprint as soon as the clown flinched. Bill tightened the drawstring on his backpack. "Alright, but the clown’s unpredictable. He might bark orders or juggle the sacks at random." They exchanged a silent nod and tested the confetti mines lined under a discarded tricycle. One spark, a poof of rainbow foam, and the night would erupt in harmless pandemonium. In that moment, rehearsals of previous comic failures flickered through their minds — exploding pies, runaway balloons, and the infamous fake mustache debacle. "If he spots us we trigger confetti mines, vanishing in a glitter cloud of chaos." "After we snag boxes we slip out through the goat exit, goats covering our tracks." "Do we have time for cake? The frosting might give away our messy fingerprints instantly." "I brought wipes and gloves but worry sugar-fueled toddlers might trip over our escape rope." "By then we’ll be speeding away with the presents in tow, laughing down Maple Drive."