"Bill, are you seeing this?" Molly whispered, her eye glued to the binoculars. "Infant invasion, Molly. My worst nightmare," Bill grumbled. "Think of the sticky fingers. The sheer volume of Paw Patrol merchandise." "Focus, Bill. Look at the display table. It's a goldmine. Wrapped in enough paper to start a small bonfire." "My lungs wouldn't survive the confetti," Bill shivered. "Are you sure about this? A children’s birthday party? Isn't that a *bit* below our pay grade?" "Our pay grade needs topping up. And it’s a *very* wealthy child. Look. That's the Mayor’s kid." "The Mayor? Oh, this is going to be complicated. We’ll need a distraction. Maybe a strategically placed clown with a disappearing act?" "Too predictable. How about a sudden, unannounced rendition of 'Happy Birthday' in a really off-key operatic style?" "Molly, you're a genius. That'll send them screaming under the tables." "Exactly. While the parents are coordinating emergency cuddles, we'll be scooping up the loot. Operation: Sugar Rush is a go." "Just promise me one thing. No glitter bombs." "On my honour, Bill. Only high-quality wrapping paper."