KEY POINTS:
The morning after is always awkward. Can you remember his name as he smiles confidently at your tousled hair and smudged mascara?
As the nation awakes this morning we must all share some responsibility for cuddling up to a party leader at the voting polls yesterday.
If Rodney Hide claimed his place in your bed for the night, you will no doubt spend the first few moments upon waking wondering why he has kept his yellow boxers on all night.
You will then spend time running through the moment you decided it was a good idea to go to bed with Rodney. Was it when he whipped you on to the dance floor for a foxtrot, or was it when he enacted a citizen's arrest of the Pakistani taxi driver on the way home because he looked at you funny. "Law and order!" he shouted, "Strike one!"
Perhaps it was your first threesome, having succumbed to the gentle ministrations of co-leaders Jeanette Fitzsimons and Russel Norman. You spend the first few moments upon waking marvelling at the sheer energy an organic diet can give a woman in her 60s and ticking the box which says "My first ginga".
Then you remember the horror of misunderstanding which occurred halfway through the night as Jeanette attempted to write the words "Vote for me" on your naked belly, wrongly assuming that you were pregnant.
The uncomfortable silence was broken only by Russel's quick-thinking, analytical approach inviting you both to count the number of male genitalia in the room.
If you rolled over and found New Zealand's sexiest politician, Winston Peters (as voted by your grandma), you probably leaped out of bed to check your purse to see if you'd given him a donation.
You might then marvel at how well he sleeps, especially after he failed to, well... finish. "You need to sort yourself out," he muttered. "Nothing to do with me."
As you calculate how soon you could get Audrey Young around to chase him out of the house, you marvel that you were so easily led to bed with promises of Monaco, luxury yachts and champagne.
There would be no need to roll over and cast your eye cautiously over a slumbering Helen Clark. You would also have ended up at her house (for security reasons) and found yourself lost in a sea of red clothing in her wardrobe looking for the toilet in the middle of the night.
As her security guy drops you home you have a vague memory of Helen pausing in the middle of it all to send a text. Something you said about Bill English and caramel popcorn sandwiches.
The chances of waking up next to John Key are minimal because he'd need someone to tell him what it was you wanted and there would be no pick-up line other than, "Hi, I'm John Key."
Peter Dunne wouldn't stay the night. He would have found a better offer across the road with a woman who smokes a pack of Dunhills a day. He rings later to say he's yours after all.
Waking up and finding Jim Anderton next to you would be a reassuring sight simply because he'd be unlikely to dump you the next day. He'd also be happy to commit for life as long as you didn't mind attaching the word "Kiwi" to the front of your name.
