Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY97PZW71D98V84CTBMGMN3

The community center’s living room reeked of orange punch and regret. A piñata shaped like a golden retriever hung crookedly from the ceiling, its string frayed where a toddler had yanked it mid-whack. Molly, in a neon pink apron over her black mask, poked at a smushed cupcake with a butter knife. “Pin the tail on the Unicorn,” she said, squinting at the wall. “Lila’s uncle drew that. Look at the horn—it’s a lollipop. Christ, who lets four-year-olds design art?” Bill, crouched behind a beanbag shaped like a frog, fumbled with a lockpick. “You ever notice parties are just… chaos with a theme?” He held up a glittery card. “Goody bags. Lila’s mom listed ’em: mini coloring books, fruit snacks, *a first-aid kit*. What is *with* the first-aid kit?” “Old people,” Molly said, popping a fruit snack into her mouth. “They think toddlers are one wrong Crayola stroke away from a emergency. We take the coloring books, the snacks, and we dip. The kit’s just a distraction—like when you use a decoy to hide the real loot in a pirate ship cake. Remember that job? The one in the cape?” Bill snickered, then winced. “That was *your* idea. The cape caught on a chandelier. I still have a gray hair from the waiter with the wine glass.” “Details,” Molly said, tapping her ear. “Tonight’s target: the gift table. It’s by the window—you saw it, right? The one with the bow that looks like a tornado. Lila’s got a Batman backpack full of stuff, but the real heist’s the unopened boxes. Those are the good ones: Lego, art supplies, *a talking teddy bear*. Dad’s gonna cry when he finds that empty space.” Bill paused, lockpick hovering. “Wait. What about the parents? There’s, like, six of ’em. One’s got a camera. What if we—” “Relax,” Molly said, flipping her hair (which was a platinum wig, currently askew). “Parents at kid parties are too busy debating whether ‘crustless sandwiches’ are a war crime to notice two weirdos in aprons. Besides, you’re the ‘aunt’s friend’s nephew who’s visiting from Des Moines.’ A little fumbling with a cupcake liner? That’s just ‘cute nephew’ tax.” Bill stood, rubbing his back. “You sure about the disguise? This apron’s *flamboyant*. What if—” A door slammed. Both froze. Footsteps thudded toward the living room. Molly grabbed a glitter bomb from her pocket and waved it. “Be quiet. Acting like raccoons in a candy store.” The door creaked open. A little girl—Lila, judging by the superhero cape—peered in, her pigtails askew. “Uh… are you guys lost?” Bill, who’d somehow melted into the beanbag frog, nodded. “Lost. And very, very *tired*.” Lila tilted her head. “Are you the piñata people?” Molly lunged, zipping up her apron. “Piñata people! We’re *here* to save the golden retriever! See? I brought a hammer!” She brandished the butter knife. Lila beamed. “The string’s broken! Can you fix it?” Bill, now free, stood. “Uh… hammer? *Later*. Let’s… uh… color! Unicorn tails! Yeah! Coloring!” Molly elbowed him. “Toddler logic: work. Now, go grab the first-aid kit—it’s by the snack table. I’ll ‘fix’ the piñata.” She winked at Lila, who plopped onto the floor with a box of crayons. As Lila started scribbling a lollipop horn on a coloring page, Bill inched toward the snack table, the “emergency kit” in hand. “You sure this is a good idea? She’s *cute*. I don’t want to scar her for life.” “Scar her for life with *joy*, Bill,” Molly said, yanking the piñata string with a *snap*. The retriever’s head fell forward, clattering. Lila giggled. “She’ll remember this as the time the grumpy apron lady turned a piñata into confetti. Hero stuff.” Bill set the first-aid kit down, then paused. “Wait—where’s the loot?” Molly pointed to the gift table. A toddler had dumped a box of crayons. “Close enough. Now move—we’ve got a party to ruin.” Bill groaned, but he was already grinning. He grabbed a Lego set from the debris. “You owe me a donut. And a therapist.” Molly tossed him a cookie. “Donut first. Therapist later. Priorities, Bill.” They vanished into a cloud of glitter, Lila cheering, “BYE, UNCLE RACY!” (a nickname Molly had *totally* earned). Somewhere, a parent yelled, “Where’s the punch?!” Molly ducked under a balloon arch. “See? Easy. Now, let’s see what our golden retriever gave us.” Bill held up the Lego set. “First lesson: *always* check the piñata.” Molly winked. “Second lesson: toddlers are the best lookouts. They’re too busy coloring to care if you’re robbing their party.” Bill smiled, but it faded. “What if they find us? What if—” “Relax,” Molly said, as another balloon popped. “We’ve got a talking teddy bear to steal. No time for ‘what ifs.’” And off they went, into the glitter and the chaos, leaving a room full of confused parents and a very happy toddler. The heist had started. And it was *glorious*.