Molly kicked a stray balloon out of the way, the squeaky protest echoing in the cavernous hall. "Right, Bill. Operation Sugar Rush is a go. Ring around the Rosie isn't exactly cutting-edge security, is it?" Bill, a man whose sartorial choices leaned heavily towards a tweed jacket and an expression of perpetual bewilderment, adjusted his spectacles. "I don't know, Molly. That one with the aggressively cheerful smile seemed quite… vigilant." "Vigilant? That was Penelope. She's seven. And she was more interested in the fact that her jellybeans were disproportionately blue. Our window of opportunity is during the musical chairs, don't you think? Maximum chaos, minimal parental oversight." Molly gestured with a glitter-covered cupcake she’d pilfered. "We get in, we grab the loot, and we’re out before they even realize their tiny hands will be empty come Christmas morning." "But the noise," Bill whispered, wringing his hands slightly. "The shrieking. It’s… it’s a lot of high-pitched frequency." "It's also a smokescreen, Bill! While little Timmy is losing his tiny mind because he didn't get the last chair, we'll be stuffing Gucci bags with joy. Think of it as… redistributing wealth. From the over-indulged to the… well, to us." Molly winked, leaving a faint smudge of frosting on her cheek. "I'm still not entirely convinced this is a morally sound endeavor, Molly. These are children's presents." "And when was the last time you saw a child spontaneously combust from a lack of a remote-controlled dinosaur? Exactly. Besides, think of the stories we'll tell. 'Remember that time we robbed little Susie of her new doll? We were legends!" Bill shivered. "I think I’d prefer not to be remembered for that particular exploit." "Oh, you're no fun, Bill. Look, the plan is simple. I create a diversion. You, with your… understated presence, slip behind this magnificent mountain of wrapping paper. I’m thinking a classic ‘fainting spell’ due to overwhelming excitement. You know, the ol' ‘oh dear, the cuteness is too much!’ routine." "I do not ‘faint,’ Molly. I experience mild lightheadedness under duress." "Same difference. While everyone’s fanning you with tiny paper napkins, you go to town. Operation Bag of Tricks is in full effect. We have two industrial-sized bin bags concealed in my carry-on. ‘Carry-on’ being relative, of course. It’s more of a… ‘luggage of opportunities.’" Bill eyed the lumpy bag with suspicion. "Are those… stuffed animals sticking out?" "Strategic camouflage, my friend. Who suspects a woman carrying a collection of slightly-used teddy bears? Nobody. Now, are you in, or are you going to let your ethical qualms prevent you from achieving peak present acquisition?" Molly held out a sticky hand. Bill sighed, a sound like a deflating party balloon. "Alright, Molly. But if we get caught, I'm blaming the aggressively cheerful one."