"You sure about this, Molly?" Bill whispered, peering through a gap in the garden fence. "This looks like a level of adorable I’m not equipped to handle." Molly adjusted her ridiculously tiny sunglasses, the kind that might have fallen off a doll. "Bill, it’s not about the adorable. It’s about the loot. And that loot is *wrapped*." "But it's a *birthday party*. There are tiny humans. With screaming potential." "Precisely. A distraction. The louder they are, the less they’ll notice us liberating their future disappointments." Molly gestured with a plastic toy hammer she’d pocketed from a previous scouting mission. "Look, the unsupervised glitter station is peak chaos potential. That's our window." "Unsupervised glitter station? You make it sound like a biohazard zone." "It practically is, my dear Bill. And where there's glitter, there's usually an unattended adult beverage. Double win." Molly began meticulously picking a stray piece of tinsel from her already-too-sparkly jumpsuit. "The objective is simple. Infiltrate, acquire, exfiltrate. Minimum engagement." "My definition of minimum engagement usually involves not having to outsmart a three-year-old high on sugar and a sugar-free juice box." "Think of them as small, unpredictable security systems. We bypass them with superior planning and a well-timed distraction. I'm thinking a strategically deployed squeaky toy. Or perhaps a spontaneous rendition of 'Wheels on the Bus' in a disturbingly deep baritone." Bill shuddered. "Please, for the love of all that is holy, no deep baritone 'Wheels on the Bus'." "Fine, fine. We'll stick with the squeaky toy. I have Bartholomew right here." Molly produced a garishly colored rubber duck with concerningly large eyes. "He’s been practicing his panic-inducing squeak." "Bartholomew? You named the distraction tool?" "It adds a layer of psychological warfare, Bill. Makes the enemy question their sanity. And their toy duck procurement choices." "Right. So, we go in, you unleash Bartholomew’s sonic terror, and I grab bags of joy-wrapped disappointment." "Exactly. We’ll need designated bag men. I was thinking you could be primary, I'll be secondary. Less confusion, more efficiency. And we synchronize watches." Molly held up her wrist, revealing a candy watch with a gummy bear for a second hand. "Mine says it's time for sugar-fueled chaos." Bill sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of impending doom. "You know, I miss the days when we just mugged old ladies for their dentures. Less glitter, more dignity.” “Dignity is for people who don’t want to retire early on a nest egg of slightly-used action figures and suspiciously identical doll dresses, Bill. Now, are you ready to embrace the madness? The children are starting to gather. I can hear the pre-meltdown giggles." "Just promise me one thing, Molly." "Anything, my loyal accomplice." "No singing. At all. Even if Bartholomew fails." Molly winked. "Deal. Now, let's go steal some childhood memories, one brightly colored box at a time."