EFFIE BATEMAN | Lifestyle | CONTACT
Slumped over a table at exactly 2:56pm, French Quarter local Kaylee Wattle  has officially tapped out of bottomless brunch.
Having both the appetite of a baby bird, and far less binge drinking weekends under her belt than the rest of her friends, Kaylee had taken a little too enthusiastically to the revolving platters of very non alcoholic tasting mimosas, reportedly smashing out an average of one every fifteen minutes.
And yes, that may have been prompted by the group’s resident drink pusher Lee, who’d been hauling the waiter over at an alarming rate to ensure she was getting her $80 worth of cheap prosecco.
Though the warning signs had been there (twerking on the chair, growing louder in decibels, and shrieking with laughter at everything) the girl’s were still pretty surprised when Kaylee bottomed out – but luckily for her, she had the best security blanket a girl could ask for.
“Oh shit”, said her mate Chelsea, noticing that Kaylee may be roughly twenty minutes from vomity city, “should we call Billy?”
“Hang on, lets give her some water first.”
It was too late for that.
Sending Kaylee’s boyfriend a tentative ‘you busy’, Chelsea attempts to coax her into having some water from a bottle, like that Australian firefighter rescuing a koala from the 2019 bushfires.
“No I’m fine hahaha”, she slurred, getting up from her seat, “I just need some fresh air.”
Following the staggering figure outside as she shoots a cursory glance at the bartender, Chelsea is unfortunately front row audience to Kaylee vomiting up three litres of orange juice, a single piece of chicken, and what resembles carrots.
“Okay I’m calling Billy.”
More to come.