Neon frosting lights zigzagged across the living room ceiling as Molly crouched behind an empty folding chair. Her eyes snapped to the cluster of color-coordinated balloons bobbing above the table piled with mystery gift boxes. Bill balanced a stolen cake server like a surgeon wielding a scalpel. They inhaled the scent of vanilla icing and rampant anticipation. The chaos of children’s cartoons hummed faintly through a speaker hidden in a corner. A hushed alarm seemed to pulse in their consciences, drowned by the hope of finding the prize beneath a ribbon bow. They crept toward the buffet of pink and blue parcels, each promising a haul worthy of legends. Under the crackle of fake confetti they held their breath. It was showtime for the most audacious heist in suburban birthday history. Soft carpet cushioned their steps, despite the sparkle of gift wrap straps catching underfoot. The table was crowded with cupcakes and juice boxes, unguarded distractions that played into their clever scheme. Each shiny ribbon and pattern offered a tantalizing promise, and they exchanged excited nods before slipping beneath the plastic tablecloth like shadows. Their hearts pounded in perfect sync, matching the muffled laughter echoing through the hallway. The door to the playroom creaked open occasionally as a chaperone peeked in; after each glance they shared a grin. Strategically positioned, the stereo speaker masked their tiny treads. They were on borrowed time, fueled by adrenaline and guilt-free grins. "Molly: Quietly, Bill, my heart is pounding louder than the party music beating through that speaker in the corner near the balloon arch grandly shimmering." "Bill: Are there actual security alarms hidden inside these piñata styled lamps or is it just an elaborate joke for sugar fueled toddlers and squealing?" "Molly: Stealth mode engaged. Hand me that fluorescent pink cake server. It will reflect disco lights and distract everyone when we make our daring escape." "Bill: I’ve got it, Molly. Once we secure the gift bags, we’ll sprint through the stack of party hats and vanish like stealth ninja confetti." "Molly: Do we have a getaway vehicle lined up? The rusted scooter with clinking balloon tires might tempt a curious playful child to chase us." "Bill: If a toddler activates one of those noisy horns attached to the chairs, we’ll blend the chaos with our own soundtrack of clattery theft." "Molly: Keep your eyes peeled for the glitter cannon. If it goes off, we’ll be wearing sequins until New Year’s. We absolutely mind the sparkle." "Bill: My pockets are stuffed with miniature toy cars and plush animals, but we still have space for a few more squeaky chicken odd treasures." "Molly: Shh, Bill! I hear footsteps. One of the parents is returning to refill juice cups. We’ve got precisely seven frantic seconds before we’re spotted." "Bill: Then on my mark we dash. Seven, eight, nine... Hope everything fits in my coat pockets, including that glowing battery powered neon unicorn lamp." A single doorbell was their only signal to vanquish this whimsical crusade.