Molly adjusted her glittery party hat and leaned against the bakery’s display case, eyeing the balloon arch across the street. "Alright, Bill, we’ve got a problem. The kid’s birthday party is in *two hours*, and you’re still wearing your ‘I Paused My Game to Be Here’ T-shirt." Bill looked down at his shirt, then back at her. "What? It’s *disguise*. Nobody suspects the guy who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else." "Yeah, except the *parents* will suspect you when you start stuffing action figures into your fanny pack like a raccoon in a dumpster." "First of all, it’s a *tactical fanny pack*. Second, have you *seen* the loot list? Some kid named Timmy is getting a *limited-edition dragon figurine* worth three hundred bucks. That’s *retirement money*, Molly." She sighed, pulling a lollipop from her purse and unwrapping it with her teeth. "Fine. But we’re not just grabbing toys. We’re *blending*. You’re gonna be Uncle Bill, the *fun* uncle. You know, the one who does magic tricks and doesn’t smell like regret." Bill paled. "Magic tricks? Molly, I once set a whoopee cushion on fire *by accident*." "Exactly. You’ve got *range*." She tossed him a deck of cards. "Now practice your *presto-chango* face. And for god’s sake, *stop adjusting your fanny pack*—you look like you’re smuggling a ferret."