Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXQ9QWAVXX0EAZ8RPR9DF2D

The rainbow-bright piñata swayed ominously in the breeze, its papier-mâché grin taunting Molly from across the backyard. She adjusted her oversized "Party Mom" name tag—*Glenda*—and sidled up to Bill, who was currently failing to blend in while aggressively clutching a plate of deviled eggs. "Stop eating like a man who’s never seen food," Molly muttered, nudging his elbow as a cluster of sugar-high six-year-olds shrieked past. "We’re here for the *haul*, not the hors d’oeuvres." Bill wiped mayo from his chin with the back of his sleeve. "These eggs are *art*. Also, I’m method acting. Glenda’s husband, *Bret*, is a man of simple pleasures." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Bret doesn’t exist. And neither will our freedom if you keep calling the birthday boy ‘boss.’" A tiny pirate barged into Bill’s shins, demanding to know where the treasure chest was. Bill, ever the professional, dropped to one knee. "Ahoy, matey! The *real* treasure is the friendships we—" Molly yanked him up by his clip-on tie. "Focus. The gift table’s by the bounce house. Three minutes. In, out, no kids traumatized." Bill sighed, brushing egg crumbs off his "World’s Okayest Dad" shirt. "Fine. But if we’re doing this, I’m taking the unicorn plushie. It’s *looking* at me."