“Are you sure about this, Molly?” Bill’s voice was a reedy whisper, his eyes wide as he peered through the gap in the garden fence. “It’s… a lot of tiny humans.” Molly adjusted the brim of her fedora, a theatrical flourish. “Bill, my friend, think of it as a deep-sea dive. We’re after a rare, iridescent prize, and these… ankle-biters… are merely the phosphorescent jellyfish we must navigate.” Bill gulped. “They’re not jellyfish, Molly. They’re small, screaming harbingers of chaos. And that one, the one with the sticky face, is staring right at me.” “A distraction, Bill. Classic misdirection. Focus. We’ve rehearsed this. You take point on the sugar-fueled squadron. Maintain eye contact. Assert dominance through interpretive dance, if you must.” “Interpretive dance? Molly, I can barely navigate a crowded supermarket without tripping. And what if they throw something? Imagine a rogue party popper to the eye.” “Precisely why you’re going in first. You’re the… decoy. The… human shield, if you will. I’ll be positioned by the gift table, a silent shadow, a master of acquisition. Think of the loot, Bill. The Lego sets. The remote-control cars. The… glitter glue. So much glitter glue.” “Glitter glue will be in my hair for weeks, Molly. My parole officer will know.” “Details, Bill, mere trifling details. You need to overcome your… apprehension. This isn’t some high-stakes art gallery heist. This is a glorified birthday buffet. We just need to be stealthy. And maybe wear an oversized inflatable dinosaur costume.” Bill’s jaw sagged. “A dinosaur costume? You want me to wear a dinosaur costume?” “It’s perfect! Blends in. Creates a diversion. Imagine little Timmy seeing a T-Rex at his own party. His little mind, blown! He’ll forget all about the presents.” “Or he’ll have a terrifying existential crisis and start crying, alerting the horde. Then we’re dealing with a full-blown stampede of mini-Nietzscheans.” “You’re overthinking it, Bill. Think of the rewards. We could retire to a small island. Somewhere with no children. Preferably with an all-you-can-eat buffet of… non-sparkly food.” “An island sounds nice. But the dinosaur costume…” “It’s non-negotiable, Bill. It’s our Trojan Horse. Or rather, our Trojan Dino. Now, remember the signal: two sharp whistles, followed by a dramatic cough. That means the coast is clear for me to deploy the burlap sack.” “And what if I get overwhelmed and start singing ‘Wheels on the Bus’ off-key?” “Then you, my dear Bill, have officially failed the mission. But I have faith. Mostly. Now, deep breaths. Imagine you are one of them. A tiny, sugar-crazed maniac. Embrace the chaos.” Bill squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m a tiny, sugar-crazed maniac. I want cake. And presents. And maybe to push someone down.” Molly clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent! You’re almost ready. Now go forth, my reptilian friend, and procure our treasures.”