Molly peered through the binoculars, the lens bringing the bouncy castle into startlingly clear focus. Pink, with several cartoon unicorns frolicking on its plastic skin. “Alright, Bill, confirm target acquisition.” Bill, perched on a slightly taller garden gnome with a chipped nose, adjusted his own set of binoculars. “Unicorn Hoppy Happy Funtime Zone, check. Parents looking suitably bored, check. Children vibrating with enough sugar to power a small village, *definitely* check.” Molly lowered her binoculars, a smile playing on her lips. “Excellent. Operation ‘Birthday Bonanza Bust’ is a go. Remind me of the objective again, Bill.” “Objective,” Bill recited, tapping a manicured finger against his temple, “is to infiltrate the premises, neutralize the gift table defenses, extract all presents, and egress without detection. Oh, and no touching the cake. We learned that the hard way at the Murgatroyd twins’ christening.” Molly shuddered. “That cake still gives me nightmares. So, plan B for infiltration?” “Plan A involves me distracting them with my award-winning opera singing and you just… walking in,” Bill said, already clearing his throat. “No,” Molly said, firmly. “Absolutely not. The last time you sang opera, Mrs. Henderson’s prize-winning pug had a seizure. Plan B: the catering van.” Bill’s eyes lit up. “Ah, the ole ‘I’m With The Band’ trick, but with miniature quiches?” “Precisely. We’ll need the uniforms, the name tags, and a convincing explanation for why a single serving of pigs-in-a-blanket requires two full-grown adults and a suspiciously large duffel bag.” “I’ll work on the duffel bag excuse. Maybe it’s a bespoke, organic, gluten-free pig-in-a-blanket delivery system? Very high tech.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Just focus on the uniforms. My intel suggests they’re using ‘Bouncy Bob’s Best Bites’ this year. Check their website for employee photos. Pay attention to hair color. We need to look authentic.” “What about egress? That’s always the sticky wicket. Too many flailing toddlers, too many watchful adults armed with camcorders.” “The bouncy castle,” Molly stated, a glint in her eye. “Once we’ve got the goods, we make for the castle. Everyone will be too busy watching the clowns, or arguing about organic juice boxes, to notice two ‘caterers’ struggling to heave a sack of presents onto a unicorn’s head.” Bill chewed on his lip. “A full-sized bouncy castle? Don’t we risk… deflating it?” “Minor collateral damage, Bill. Think of the greater good. Those children have too many toys anyway.” “You’re a monster, Molly.” “A very efficient monster. Now, you’re on uniform procurement. I’ll handle the distraction at the main entrance. I’m thinking… a misplaced parrot. A very loud, very rude parrot.” Bill grinned. “I like it. A talking parrot always throws a wrench in the proceedings. Especially if it swears.” “Precisely. Meet back here in an hour with those uniforms, and don’t forget the name tags. I’m thinking ‘Chef Gaston’ for you and ‘Sous Chef Simone’ for me. French always lends an air of legitimacy.” “French it is. Just promise me we get to keep at least one of those remote-control monster trucks.” Molly sighed dramatically. “Fine, Bill. One monster truck. Now go. The cake isn’t going to not be touched itself.”