The flickering neon sign of the corner store cast lurid green stripes across Molly’s face as she meticulously unwrapped a suspiciously large lollipop. “So, the intel?” she drawled, her voice a husky whisper that could curdle milk. Bill, hunched over the grimy formica table, fiddled with a bent paperclip. “Solid. Mrs. Higgins’ rugrat, little Timmy, is turning seven tomorrow. Massive bash. Mrs. Higgins, bless her oblivious heart, is loading the entire haul onto the porch for ‘eco-friendly’ wrapping disposal.” Molly licked the lollipop with deliberate slowness. “Eco-friendly. Right. And we’re the… bio-degradable sanitation crew?” Bill snorted, a sound like a rusty hinge. “Something like that. The plan’s elegant in its simplicity, M. We go in during peak chaos. Drown out the small fry’s squeals with a strategically placed kazoo chorus.” “Kazoo chorus? Bill, you’ve been watching too many nature documentaries.” Molly’s eyebrow arched. “I was thinking more along the lines of a phantom balloon release. Creates a diversion, makes them look up, and *poof* – presents gone.” “Too much helium, too many variables. And what if a rogue updraft carries them to Canada? We’re not bribing border control with novelty socks.” Bill gestured with the paperclip. “Kazoos. Simple. Inexpensive. Guaranteed to grate on an adult’s nerves to the point of distraction.” Molly chewed thoughtfully. “Alright, kazoos. But what’s our entry point? Mrs. Higgins has a guard poodle. Looks like a fluffy white demon.” “Poodles are all bark and no bite, Molly. A strategically deployed squeaky toy will occupy Her Majesty for a good five minutes. That’s our window. You grab the big ticket items, I’ll bag the smaller, more… glitter-infused miscellany.” “Glitter-infused miscellany? You mean the craft kits designed to permanently embed themselves into upholstery?” “Precisely! Those are the ones that fetch a premium on the black market. Think artisanal slime ingredients.” Bill winked. Molly sighed, a puff of sugary air. “And the getaway? We’re not pulling up in a clown car again, are we?” “Negative. My cousin Brenda is lending us her sensible minivan. It practically screams ‘innocent suburbanite.’ We’ll be loaded up before anyone realizes their precious Timmy’s new Xbox has been liberated.” “So, operation ‘Sweet Seven’ is a go?” “Operation ‘Sweet Seven’ is primed and ready for plunder, Molly. Just remember, the objective is maximum sugar rush, minimum collateral damage. And no wrestling with toddlers. It’s bad for the brand.” Molly popped the lollipop out of her mouth, a sticky residue clinging to her lips. “Understood. But if Timmy gets a Lego Death Star, I’m keeping it.”