ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact

Kelly Copeland says she can’t help being the life of the party, it’s a rare honour that she takes very seriously.

However, each of her Sunday starts the same way, whether it be a special day like today or just another morning brushing the sambuca off her back molars.

“I don’t know why she rouses on me so much,” said the 24-year-old junior lawyer.

“I worked hard at school, university and life. She doesn’t have a monopoly on my morals. Christ if she knew half the things I got up to last night, she wouldn’t be able to even look at me. I’m sorry I’m hungover, Mom [sic] but at least him here.”

Sitting in the brunch nook over her Southwest Betoota display home, mother Gaile sighs and fights back the urge to cry as Kelly slips in and out on consciousness while trying to keep down her overly-rich eggs benedict.

Gaile’s happy her daughter made it all the way out to the cultural cesspit of suburbia, but she wished she’d clean herself up, find a husband whose played that contact sport and now works at a bank – and move in at the other end of their quiet cul-de-sac.

“I just wish she wasn’t such a party girl, boys don’t like party girls,” she said.

“And she drinks too much, I can smell it seeping through her pores. It’s disgusting. Just one Mother’s Day I’d like her to come back here after a good night’s sleep on the arm of some more-than-once-concussed Reds player with a one-syllable first name. A girl can dream.”

More to come.



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