Molly adjusted her ridiculous rainbow wig while crouched behind Mrs. Henderson's prize-winning azaleas. The sound of shrieking six-year-olds echoed from the backyard, punctuated by the occasional adult desperately suggesting everyone "use their inside voices." She squinted through her oversized novelty sunglasses at the mountain of wrapped boxes stacked precariously on the patio table. Bill emerged from behind the garden shed wearing a polka-dotted bow tie that had seen better decades and a painted-on smile that looked more serial killer than children's entertainer. His fake mustache drooped pathetically in the afternoon heat. "Remember the plan," Molly whispered, checking her watch. "Right. I distract them with balloon animals while you grab the loot." The birthday girl's mother appeared in the doorway, frantically waving at someone inside. Perfect timing. Molly gave Bill the signal, and he strutted into the chaos with the confidence of a man who had never successfully twisted a balloon in his life. Within seconds, he was surrounded by tiny sugar-fueled maniacs demanding giraffes, elephants, and dinosaurs. His first balloon attempt resulted in what could generously be called abstract art.