Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAC0SAVH3W1X566Y6TCMV9

The prep room behind the community hall smelled of lemon frosting and glitter, a quiet place for two nerves to mingle. Molly: You hear the balloons squeak when you squeeze them, Bill, like they're gossiping about us. Bill: They probably are. The party’s so bright it could power a city of kids with cheap sparkles. Molly: We’re about to raid a children's party, Bill. Attempted heists are never this cuddly. Bill: The plan is simple, sweet, and very questionable. We sneak in wearing smiles and suspiciously clean shoes. Molly: We’ll blend with the crowd, pretend to be parents who forgot their address book and enthusiasm. Bill: I’ll carry the map of presents, the one with doodles of unicorns and suspicious yellow sticky notes. Molly: And I’ll be the decoy shopper, nodding at every balloon, tipping my hat to every cupcake. Bill: The window of opportunity is when the magician illusionist tries to pull a rabbit and pulls your attention instead. Molly: Focus, Bill. We’re not here for pets or rabbits or rabbits in hats. We want the stack of gifts. Bill: The stack is heavy, but my pockets are lighter. We’ll stagger, we’ll shuffle, we’ll disappear. Molly: Disappear with the gifts? We’ll reappear on a couch in a different universe, maybe surrounded by party hats. Bill: If we get spotted, we blame the glitter. Glitter is omnipresent, suspicious, and festive. Molly: We’ll time it between the singing and the pinata crash. The kids love a dramatic moment. Bill: I’ll hum the jingle from the prize booth, you fake a phone call, then we melt into the chorus. Molly: And if someone asks why we’re here, we say we’re from a charity ride-along for birthdays. Bill: A charity ride-along? That’s almost credible. Add a fake badge with a smiling emoji. Molly: The badge is key. And a clipboard. People respect clipboards, even at births of excitement. Bill: We’ll exit with a ceremonial bow, then vanish behind the snack table like accomplished conspirators. Molly: It’s all theater, Bill. We are merely actors in a very expensive pretend game. Bill: And the props are the gift wrap, the ribbons, the suspiciously large cone of pink frosting. Molly: The frosting hides our fingerprints, if you believe in frosting fingerprints, which I do. Bill: Then the finale: we deposit the haul into a harmless tote, confess nothing, escape via the supply closet. Molly: Leave through the back, past the ice cream machine, gallop out like cartoon criminals. Bill: Cartoons are honest about crime. They remind us it’s all a joke until someone yells “surprise.” Molly: Surprise indeed. The moment the lights fade, we’ll vanish like party favors. Bill: Remember: once outside, we don’t look back, we don’t talk, we just high-five the night. Molly: High-fives are dangerous in a helium atmosphere. Let’s keep two breaths for the escape. Bill: Fine. We ghost through the hallway, leave the scene smelling faintly of vanilla and victory. Molly: Victory tastes like cake frosting and the truth that crime is a shared joke. Bill: So we toast with juice boxes and pretend we planned this all along. Molly: This is our masterpiece, Bill. A heist you could tell at ten birthday parties and nobody would mind. Bill: Then let’s do it—gloves on, hearts light, and a promise to come back with stories, not receipts. Molly: This is our memory, a ridiculous, perfectly timed caper. Bill: And the party will still be singing when we fade into the applause of the night. Molly: Then we vanish, as planned, leaving the room to its cupcakes and whispers. Bill: And the memory of a ridiculous, perfectly executed caper.