Run: 2026-02-16-01KHKAPHR0HPD0551EFZRY17JH

Outside, the backyard was a war zone of inflatable unicorns, half-deflated kiddie pools, and a wooden castle that probably taught toddlers how to swear. Molly and Bill had argued about uniforms — tuxedos would look silly next to cartoon tablecloths, leather jackets would make them sweat — and settled for stealth yoga pants and shirts with fake teacher badges. They had practiced their entries on YouTube, memorized routes drawn on a party map that looked more like a treasure hunt, and synchronized watches that stopped at five because batteries were expensive. Tonight was their night to appropriate wrapped capitalism. They weren't heartless; they were efficiency artists, redistributing sugar and plastic toys from noisy lawns to quieter alleys. Molly fingered a coil of ribbon like it might confess secrets, and Bill chewed a peppermint, his nervous habit as predictable as a getaway car's hesitation at a stop light, and they both smiled knowingly. Molly: Operation Birthday Heist starts at cake time; we distract with balloon animals, sweep presents into sacks, leave a note, vanish and tip the clown Bill: Are you serious about tipping the clown? I'm more worried about glitter bombs in the piñata, tripping over toddlers, and dog with party hat Molly: The dog helps if we bring treats; toddlers love sugar and won't notice our sleight beneath tables during magic so be nimble and quiet Bill: Sleight sounds fancy; I practiced pocketing cupcakes, removing bows, and folding wrapping paper into rectangles in case we need confusion camouflage or origami cover Molly: Decoy gifts, yes. We swap labels, replace toys with rocks, then slip real presents into matte duffels while parents watch cake baffled and clap Bill: Parents clap but the cake face explodes confetti, distraction protocol Delta; I will wear phony charisma and excessive complimenting as social smoke bombs today Molly: Phony charisma is your best feature? I'm relying on you to charm away suspicious relatives while I execute silent sack with Velcro grip gloves Bill: Silent sack will be dignified and rhythmic; I've drilled the motions: lift, fold, tuck, whisper "sorry" like a mantra and retreat through the gate Molly: Gate retreat might be complicated by sprinklers or heroic children; we need an exit strategy involving scooter, folding table, and donut distraction plus confetti Bill: Confetti is free theater; I will rig a party popper to go off when we exit, draw attention like a very noisy flourish indeed Molly: Indeed indeed, and while confetti distracts I'll be under the cake table swapping ribbons for rope and attaching bows to duffel zippers like bells Bill: Bells are useful unless an aunt is tone deaf and thinks it's ritual; I'll practice wrong notes to pass as music and escape suspicion Molly: Escape suspicion will be easier if we leave a thank you card signed "The Birthday Fairies" and a note claiming toys relocated for safety Bill: I'll add a charity sticker, a solar apology light, and a cake doodle reading we meant well brightly colored, slightly accusatory, and suspiciously official