The bouncy castle, a garish pink monstrosity, wobbled precariously. Molly, perched on the garden fence, adjusted her oversized sunglasses. “Right, the mission parameters are clear. Infiltration via the confetti cannon’s detonation. Distraction is paramount. Anyone see the cake?” Bill, crammed behind a suspiciously lumpy gnome, grunted. “Focus, Moll. Presents. That’s the treasure trove. Tiny hands, big greed. It’s a goldmine of wrapping paper and disappointment.” He poked his head out. “Are we sure about this? Last time we tried a kindergarten, the juice box incident was… sticky.” “That was a tactical error of judgement on your part,” Molly retorted, a glint in her eye. “This is a professional operation. Observe the target. Aunt Susan’s got good taste. Those boxes are substantial. We strike when the singing reaches its crescendo. You handle the egress, I’ll manage the haul.” “So, the plan is basically… steal from babies?” Bill sighed, a faint whiff of desperation clinging to him. “Lovely.”