“You’re telling me,” Bill whispered, his voice raspy like a badger gargling gravel, “we’re robbing a *toddler’s birthday party*?” Molly rolled her eyes. “It’s not just *any* toddler’s birthday party, Bill. It’s little Barnaby Buttercup’s third. And Barnaby Buttercup, according to my intel, has managed to acquire an astonishing collection of artisanal dollhouses and a solid gold rocking horse.” “A solid gold rocking horse? Are you sure that’s not just, you know, a very shiny regular rocking horse?” Bill squinted at her, as if expecting her to confess to hallucinating precious metals. “My sources are impeccable, darling. And the intel also states an unusually high concentration of wealthy, unsuspecting parents fueled by bottomless champagne. Perfect mark.” Molly tapped her manicured fingernail on the faded blueprint of the Buttercup mansion spread across the grimy pub table. “Right. So, our plan is – what? Crash the bouncy castle and make off with… what? A life-sized teddy bear?” Bill gestured wildly with his empty pint glass. “Precisely. Well, not precisely *that*. We go in during the peak chaos. Think sugar rush, balloon pop apocalypse. That’s when the parents are distracted, a little tipsy, and decidedly… unobservant. We’ll be disguised as catering staff. Standard issue polyester jumpsuits, name tags that say ‘Brenda’ and ‘Gary’.” “Brenda and Gary? Seriously, Molly? I’m a Gary, but I’m not sure I can pull off ‘Brenda’.” Bill tugged at the collar of his worn tweed jacket. “What if they recognize us? Little Timmy next door saw me trying to steal a garden gnome once.” “Timmy next door won’t recognize Brenda or Gary. Brenda and Gary are faceless cogs in the party-planning machine. And even if he did, what’s he going to do? Tell his mommy that the suspicious looking woman in the slightly-too-tight polyester uniform is planning grand larceny?” Molly smirked. “Our entry point is the back kitchen door. While the other ‘Brendas’ are wrangling tiny humans and serving questionable vol-au-vents, we’ll be ‘stocking the bar’ as we call it. Which means we’ll be, naturally, assessing the gift situation.” “Assessing the gift situation. So, we just… walk out with the wrapping paper and a bow?” Bill’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Bill, my dear, we’re thieves, not amateur recyclers. We’ll be deploying a specially designed… ‘gift acquisition device’. Think of it as a very sophisticated shopping cart. We load it up, and then we egress through the side garden, under the cover of the synchronized sprinkler system test. The water will obscure our… artistic endeavors.” “Sprinklers? Synchronized sprinklers? Molly, this is getting too elaborate. What if Barnaby wants to open his presents right then?” “He’ll be too busy attempting to eat a balloon animal, trust me. And the parents, bless their champagne-addled hearts, will be more concerned with preventing him from choking on said balloon animal than checking if their solid gold rocking horse has vanished. It’s genius, Bill. Pure, unadulterated, toddler-themed genius.” Bill took a long, slow gulp of his imaginary drink. “You know, the sheer audacity of it… it’s almost beautiful.” Molly beamed. “Exactly. Now, about those polyester jumpsuits…”