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The rubble of grape stems and cracked-off corners of water crackers is a clear indicator that the girls are going to be skipping dinner tonight.
Ellie, Britt, Anoushka and Violet are currently wrapping up the prosseco, and are going to make the critical mistake of moving straight onto the frozen rosè.
The 65-dollar spread of brie, blue, hummus, fruit, and capsicum dip has been annihilated within an hour – as the close friends rip into a fast-flowing catch up.
With Violet yet to unload on this new fucking boss she’s been messaging them about, the first sip of Frozè interrupts all conversations.
“Oh my god, this is so good.” says Violet, in reference to the light pink slushie that was just poured out of a steel tap at the front bar of the Lord Kidman rooftop club.
“Is it?” shrieks Anoushka.
“Should I get one?!”
“Do it!” says Violet.
At time of press there was a screening of 62 seperate text messages from Britt’s ex-boyfriend, who is about to experience a flurry of unexpected Instagram likes on the photos of him and his new girlfriend.
