Bill adjusted his oversized clown nose in the reflection of a fire hydrant. “Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Molly tightened the laces on her pristine white sneakers. “Because, Bill, a children’s birthday party is the perfect crime. Everyone’s distracted by sugar and a man in a creepy dragon costume. The presents will be practically unguarded.” “The presents are for a five-year-old named Timmy,” Bill muttered. “This feels like a new low, even for us.” “It’s not low, it’s strategic,” Molly insisted, pulling a small, furry caterpillar out of her pocket. “See? I’m the ladybug. You’re the bumblebee. We fit right in.” “I look like a fuzzy, yellow disaster,” Bill grumbled, poking the black stripes on his chest. “And my antennae keep flopping into my eyes.” “Stop whining. The plan is simple. I create a diversion with my interpretive dance to the Wiggles. You grab the gift pile.” “What if a kid asks for a balloon animal?” “Then you make them the world’s saddest poodle and move on. Now, smile. We’re supposed to be bringing joy, not existential dread.”