Run: 2026-05-10-01KR8YT1JGFM1KCD2F1ECG4XHE

Molly leaned back against the cracked vinyl seat of the van parked two blocks from the house. “I still think you’re insane, Bill. A children’s birthday party? We’re going to look like the world’s creepiest uncle and aunt.” Bill drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Exactly why it’ll work, Molly. Everyone assumes any adult at a kid’s party is either a parent or hired help. We waltz in, grab the loot, and waltz out before anyone notices the dip in gift volume.” Molly snorted. “And what happens when little Timmy asks why we’re stuffing gift bags into a duffel bag? You planning to tell him we’re the ‘present relocation specialists’?” “We’ll tell him they’re being taken for ‘safe keeping’ because the real party is tomorrow at the community center. Kids believe anything if you say it with confidence. Besides, the majority of gifts are still in the foyer because the actual gift-opening happens after cake. We hit that pile, not the ones already opened.” Molly checked her watch. “And security?” “Two tired dads at the front door sipping lukewarm coffee and one mom who’s already on her third glass of sangria. They’ll be too distracted by piñata logistics to notice two strangers in sensible shoes.” Molly tapped the passenger window. “What about our cover story? We can’t just say we’re the ‘entertainment.’” Bill grinned. “We’re the surprise balloon-animal duo. I bought a cheap bag of balloons on the way. If anyone asks, we’ll do a quick giraffe impression and keep moving.” Molly raised an eyebrow. “You can’t even tie a balloon without it exploding.” “Details. The point is, ten minutes inside max. We grab the unopened boxes near the tree, toss them in the duffel, and we’re gone before the magician finishes his first trick.” Molly sighed. “And you’re positive no one will recognize us from the school fundraising fiasco last month?” Bill shrugged. “Different wigs this time. Nobody remembers faces at kid events—everyone’s too busy keeping sugar-high six-year-olds from licking the walls.” Molly fiddled with the zipper of the empty duffel at her feet. “If this goes sideways, I’m blaming you entirely.” Bill started the engine, the van rumbling to life. “If it goes sideways, we revert to Plan B: act like we’re looking for the bathroom and slip out the back. Kids’ parties are chaos; nobody follows adults who look purposeful.” Molly glanced through the windshield at the colorful balloons already tied to the mailbox down the street. “You’re forgetting one thing. Kids notice when they don’t get presents. One crying child and the whole place mobilizes.” Bill pulled the van into gear. “Then we leave a single wrapped box behind labeled ‘From the Universe.’ Keeps the crying to a minimum and buys us an extra thirty seconds.” Molly shook her head, half-laughing. “You’re choosing this moment to develop a conscience?” Bill winked. “Call it professional courtesy. Now put your wig on. The party starts in five minutes.”