Run: 2026-03-09-01KK9QQNN6J29PE54MWVFR3ZWA

Molly crouched behind the hedge in a velvet blazer borrowed from a magician and studied the suburban battlefield: balloons, bunting, and one inflatable dinosaur swaying like a bored sentry. Bill, disguised as a depressed clown, balanced a tray of sausage rolls and tried to look inconspicuous, which was difficult with shoes the size of rowing boats. The house glittered with ribboned loot. Every gift bag on the patio looked plump enough to contain batteries, dolls, sugar, or that rarest treasure, receipts. “We go in smiling,” Molly whispered. “Smile wider,” Bill muttered. “You look like tax season in a hat.” A shriek rose from the garden as three pirates chased a princess through a sprinkler. Good, Molly thought; chaos was the natural camouflage of both children and professionals. She unfolded the plan on a napkin already stained with icing: mingle, flatter the grandmother, avoid face paint, and stack the presents beside the rented pony until departure became redistribution. Bill nodded solemnly, then sneezed confetti. Molly took that as an omen, though whether lucky or disastrous, she couldn't tell; around Bill, both arrived wearing streamers. “And no juggling near the cake,” she hissed, as the pony bit a balloon and looked promoted.