Molly adjusted her rainbow clown wig in the rearview mirror while Bill struggled to inflate a bouncy castle porcupine costume in the backseat. The GPS indicated they were three minutes from suburban oblivion, where seven-year-old Tyler's backyard bash promised enough gift cards and unwrapped Lego sets to fund their early retirement. Molly checked her utility belt disguised as a balloon animal holster while reviewing the blueprint one last time. Bill would create a diversion by accidentally popping the moonbounce, while Molly rappelled down from the oak tree using a rope disguised as crepe paper streamers. The target was the gift table, currently undefended by anything fiercer than a sleeping golden retriever. Molly applied greasepaint with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker, transforming her scowl into a permanent smile. She tested her grappling hook, cleverly concealed within an oversized novelty sombrero. The invitation had cost them three donuts and a forged signature from the principal, but the intelligence was solid: one PS5, three drones, and forty pounds of chocolate coins sitting virtually unguarded beneath a flimsy Frozen tablecloth. "This is degrading," Bill wheezed. "Zip it," Molly said. "Nobody suspects the entertainment." "Do I really have to sing?" "Only for the cake distraction."