Run: 2026-03-03-01KJTZY9ZYKCFQ54GBNDRBGGY3

Molly adjusted her neon pink tutu and glared at the invitation pinned to the drywall. Bill was busy trying to jam a velvet party hat over his ears, his thick fingers tangling in the elastic strap. We are definitely going to hell for this, Bill muttered, snapping the strap against his chin. He hissed in pain, rubbing a red welt. Don’t be dramatic, Molly whispered, checking her watch. It is a four-year-old’s birthday bash, not a gold bullion vault. The security measures are basically a lukewarm ball pit and a stressed clown named Giggles. Giggles does not matter, Bill insisted, gesturing wildly with a half-inflated balloon. It is about the principle of the thing. We are stealing toys from toddlers. Think of the toys, Bill. The limited-edition action figures, the pristine building blocks, the remote-controlled cars. My niece wants a tablet and I am tired of being broke. Are we really doing this or are you just going to whine about your lack of moral compass until the cake is cut? Fine, Bill sighed, his shoulders slumping. But if I get a face-painting allergy, I am taking your share of the loot. You are allergic to nothing except commitment and hard work, Molly retorted. Now, memorize the floor plan. The gifts are staged by the giant inflatable slide. That is our extraction point. The parents will be distracted by the piñata ceremony, which is our window of opportunity. Exactly how are we going to haul an entire table of presents out through a suburban backyard crawling with hyperactive humans? We use the magician’s trunk, Bill. He has a false bottom. We hide the goods, wheel it to the van, and call it a day’s work. You are a terrible person, Molly. I know, but I look fantastic in this tutu. Do you think they will notice if I pocket a handful of juice boxes? For the road, Bill? For the road, Molly agreed, tucking a lock pick into her petticoat. Let us get those presents. Wait, Bill whispered, grabbing her arm. Do you hear that? Hear what? The sound of impending justice? No, the sound of a toddler army screaming the lyrics to that shark song. If we get caught, I am telling them you are my weird aunt. I am actually insulted you would suggest anything else, Molly said, smoothing her skirt. Remember, precision is key. We go in, we grab the haul, and we do not engage with the bouncy house. I cannot promise that, Bill said, eyes already gleaming with the prospect of an oversized trampoline. I have been wanting to test my vertical leap for years. Focus, Bill. The toys. Right. The toys. Just think of the resale value on those building blocks. We are basically entrepreneurs. We are absolutely criminals, Molly corrected. Keep your eyes on the slide. Let’s dance.