Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAH2Z9M0GCA5CRVSSCYSS8

The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt sticky under Molly’s elbows. She stabbed a french fry, already limp with age, into a pool of ketchup. “Okay, let's run it again. Operation: Birthday Blitz. You remember the intel?” Bill, currently demolishing a stack of pancakes, mumbled around a mouthful. “Seven-year-old Timmy. Obsessed with dinosaurs. Parents loaded. Standard suburban shindig. Bounce house. Clowns. The works. And a mountain of presents.” “A *mountain*, Bill. That’s the key. Mrs. Henderson, Timmy’s mother, practically advertised the haul on Facebook. 'Timmy is SO lucky!' followed by approximately 78 photos of brightly wrapped boxes. We're talking a Nintendo Switch, a remote control T-Rex, a year’s supply of slime, the usual.” Bill swallowed the last of his pancakes. “Slimy. Excellent. Distraction potential.” “Not distraction potential, Bill. We’re not *using* the slime, we’re *stealing* everything before anyone notices it’s gone.” Molly sighed. “This is why I need to run through it. You get easily sidetracked by…shininess.” "Hey! I have focus. Especially when there's valuable merchandise involved." Bill leaned forward conspiratorially. “So, I pose as the dinosaur mascot. Full inflatable T-Rex suit. Guaranteed chaos." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "Absolutely not. You in a dinosaur suit is a walking disaster. Last time you tried a costume, you ended up wedged in a revolving door dressed as a giant banana." “That was a *particularly* narrow revolving door.” Bill defended himself. "And I got out eventually! Besides, kids love dinosaurs.” “They love dinosaurs that don’t trip over their own feet and accidentally stomp on a cake. You're on crowd control. Keep the horde occupied. Juggle. Make balloon animals. Be…festive. I'll handle the gift acquisition.” “Festive? Me? I’m more ‘subtle infiltration’ than ‘joyful revelry’.” “Exactly why you’re crowd control. It's a vital role. Divert attention while I discreetly…relocate the presents into the van.” Bill’s eyes lit up. “Relocate. I like that. Sounds professional. What about security?” “Two bored teenagers, supposedly hired to ‘watch things’. I’ve accounted for them. A strategically placed bag of gummy bears should keep them occupied. They’re easily bribed." "Gummy bears. Brilliant. What kind?” “Red. They’re their favourite. I staked out the last party Mrs. Henderson threw. Extensive research, Bill, extensive research. Now, focus. Timing is crucial. We go in during the pin the tail on the dinosaur game. Maximum distraction." Bill groaned. “Oh, not the tail. That’s always humiliating. I'm terrible at pinning tails.” “You are terrible at everything involving fine motor skills, Bill. Just…stay away from the blindfolds. And for the love of all that is holy, no roaring."