Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKA01N6EE7P7MQ0CDBG55ZV

Molly and Bill hunched over a kiddie map of the community center, surrounded by glitter, ribbon shrapnel, and a suspiciously cheerful inflatable unicorn. It wheezed. "Okay, Bill, we are not committing grand larceny; we are relocating joy to a better home, namely ours, and we’ll invoice the universe later. Tonight." "Relocating joy sounds noble, but children are tiny chaos engines, Molly; we need a plan that survives cake, confetti, and a rogue mascot stampede. scenario." Molly tapped the unicorn’s snout, which sighed again. She grinned the way raccoons probably dream. Bill checked his wristwatch like it owed him apologies today. "Here’s the beauty: we blend with the festivities by being helpful, the sort of volunteers who alphabetize piñatas and offer tactical guidance on musical chairs." "Helpful until someone asks us to actually help, at which point my moral compass starts tap-dancing, and not even in time with the birthday anthem." A sugary chorus leaked from the gym next door. Streamers trembled like nervous cobras. Somewhere, a kazoo practiced villainy. Bill lifted the map, upside down. "Relax, we execute during peak chaos, a precise ninety-second window I’m calling Operation Glitter Eclipse, when even the chaperones forget their names and dietary restrictions." "Peak chaos, sure, but what’s our camouflage, specifically, besides your radiant confidence and my ability to look like I’m supposed to carry clipboards at birthdays." The unicorn listed toward them like a juror. Molly unzipped a tote, producing sequined aprons and name tags reading HELPER, which winked under fluorescent lights. "Authenticity matters; we wield trash bags, offer extra napkins, nod knowingly at frosting disasters, then escort gifts to a safer, less sticky environment far away." "I adore euphemisms that sound like yoga poses. But contingencies, please; what if someone small, loud, and jam-fingered asks where we’re taking Great-Aunt Gertrude’s blender?" Molly considered, then shrugged with theatrical innocence. Bill twirled a pom-pom stick he absolutely hadn’t borrowed. The gym doors wheezed, releasing confetti like impatient punctuation. "We speak fluent Clipboard, Bill; we say inventory, logistics, and audit, and suddenly everyone backs away respectfully, unsure whether numbers bite or simply lecture forever." "Numbers do bite; I once owed interest to a stack of coupons. Still, I like it. Do we reward ourselves with cupcakes as professional development?" Beyond the wall, a chant swelled: cake, cake, cake. Molly and Bill shared a conspiratorial smile that might have earned detention in three counties already. "Focus, scholar; once the candles ignite, we initiate our benevolent relocation, glide like considerate ghosts, and remember: never run, always briskly purpose-walk with jazz-hands confidence." "If we get caught, we apologize poetically, return everything, and found a nonprofit for rehabilitating ribbon. Also, I cry on command; it’s disarming to toddlers." "Excellent; your tears, my spreadsheets. Remember, Bill, we are not villains; we’re gift relocation consultants, bravely preventing regifting tragedies and socks being mistaken for excitement." "And if anyone asks why we’re leaving early, we say there’s a quota on delight transportation, and we’ve reached it. Union rules. Take that, universe."