The glitter dust shimmered under Bill's flashlight beam, a veritable minefield of miniature dragons and unicorn horns. Molly adjusted her oversized novelty sunglasses, a surprisingly effective camouflage amongst the chaos of discarded balloon remnants. "Right," Molly whispered, her voice a low hiss that barely disturbed a slumbering stuffed giraffe, "Operation Santa's Little Secret is a go. Remember the game plan." Bill, whose massive frame was currently wedged behind a bouncy castle deflated to a sad, rubber puddle, grunted. "Present acquisition. Stealth. No sugar rushes." "Exactly!" Molly said, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "And absolutely no engaging with any sticky-fingered sprites. Their parental units are the real prize." "Got it," Bill mumbled, his hand disappearing into a pile of suspiciously sticky napkins. "So, we take the main haul from the gift table, then I create a diversion with the confetti cannon?" Molly tapped her sunglasses. "Precisely. And try not to inhale too much of the sparkly stuff this time. You spent a week looking like a disco ball."