"So the kid's six, right?" Molly whispered, fiddling with a tiny plastic dinosaur. "Seven, technically. But six for party purposes. You know how kids are. They inflate their ages like a cheap balloon." Bill adjusted his oversized novelty glasses. "Right, right. Presents. You think they'll be, like, wrapped in glitter?" "Knowing Brenda, the mom? You're looking at a glitter bomb delivery system. Probably some Paw Patrol action figures and enough craft supplies to redecorate the Louvre." "Paw Patrol. Classic. So, timing is key. When do the minions come out for cake?" "Between the bouncy castle deflation and the inevitable sugar-induced meltdown. We'll have a window. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Enough time to fill the bags." "Bags. Did you bring the velvet ones? Gotta maintain a certain… aesthetic." "Of course. And the disguise kit? Don't tell me you forgot the clown nose." "Wouldn't dream of it. Though I am considering going as a giant, slightly menacing toddler." "Brilliant! Adds a layer of plausible deniability. 'Oh, we're just here for the piñata!' then bam! Presents are gone." "And the toddler cries. Always a good distraction."