Run: 2026-10-06-01M48VMJAZ0M04K636YY8HSACK

Molly spread the party invitations across the kitchen table like a winning hand of cards, her finger tapping the glittery unicorn design. "Bill, I'm telling you, this is the score of the century. Three-year-olds, Bill. They don't even know what a lock is." Bill leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, studying the invitation with the suspicion of a man who had once been banned from a Chuck E. Cheese. "Molly, we're talking about toddlers. Actual babies with sippy cups. What are we supposed to do, put on a clown nose and ask for their juice boxes?" "Exactly!" Molly beamed, pulling out a hand-drawn map of the venue. "We go in as entertainers. I've already ordered the costume. Bill, I'm going to be a seven-foot-tall purple dinosaur named Barney's Cousin Reginald." "That's not a real dinosaur." "Reginald is whatever I say he is." She pointed at the map. "You're the magician. You do the disappearing balloon trick, I 'accidentally' knock over the present table, we stuff everything into Reginald's pouch—" "My pouch?" "Your magic bag. Same thing." Molly grabbed his wrist, her eyes gleaming with the feverish intensity of someone who had definitely not slept. "Think about it, Bill. LEGO sets. Tablets. Those little kid cars they push around. I saw the registry. One kid wants a potty training seat shaped like a throne. A throne, Bill!" Bill rubbed his temples. "Molly, I stole a Picasso once. Do you know how hard that was? The security, the laser grid, the guard who had a dog that looked at me like it knew my secrets. And you want me to face a room full of children?" "The children won't know, Bill. They're children. Their entire cognitive framework is 'is this shiny?' and 'can I eat this?' We are invisible to them. We are the wind." "Last time you said that, we got caught in a revolving door for forty minutes." "That was different! That was a revolving door with a sensor! This is—" she waved her hand dramatically, "—a birthday party. Chaos. Pure, beautiful chaos. Cake everywhere. Screaming. Parents drinking wine in the kitchen because they've given up on their dreams." Bill stood, pacing to the window. "What if they have a camera? What if little Timmy's dad is a retired Navy SEAL? What if—" "Then we pivot." Molly was already packing a duffel bag with suspicious enthusiasm. "I've got the backup plan. If the SEAL situation arises, I do the dinosaur roar, you create a distraction with the whoopee cushion, and we escape through the doggy door. I measured it. I'm flexible." "You measured a doggy door." "I'm committed, Bill. That's what makes me a professional." She zipped the bag shut and looked at him with the earnest eyes of a golden retriever who had just discovered a tennis ball. "One job. One last job. Then we retire to a beach somewhere with no children and no parties and no glitter that never, ever comes off." Bill sighed, the sound of a man accepting his fate. "Fine. But if I have to wear a sequined top hat, I'm billing you for emotional damages." "Deal." Molly extended her hand. "To Reginald?" "To Reginald." He shook it. "And Bill. Mostly to Bill. I'm doing the heavy lifting here." "Obviously." She was already at the door, humming something that sounded like a circus theme. "Party's Saturday. Don't be late. Reginald doesn't wait for anyone." "Reginald sounds like a nightmare." "Reginald IS a nightmare." She grinned, all teeth. "That's the point."