Dear Ms Gillard,
I'm going to forget, for a moment that 24 hours ago you were proclaiming your loyalty to the PM and dismissing any rumblings of a leadership challenge. Until of course, you got a sniff of the numbers and realised you were in with a shot. Let's pretend, shall we that that doesn't seem at all callous and opportunistic.
I'm going to pretend not to notice that if we do, in fact, find ourselves with our first Female Prime Minister today, it will have happened in the most underhanded, treacherous of ways - one that may haunt you for the rest of your political career. Mud sticks, I'm told. You've proven you can play the game with the big boys, cut throat and backstabbing as the best of them. Yay you.
Forget that this could destabilise Labor enough to leave the country with Tony Freaking Abbott.
No. Forget all of that. Do you want to know what really ticks me off?
Why, for the love of all things holy, did this all have to happen at 10pm? Why did you leave us fixed to our television screens, channel surfing in a desperate bid to work out what in the hell was happening. I didn't get to bed until 1.30am.
Did you not know that the rest of the country had a soccer match to get up for?
My goodness, you're lucky there are no soccer fans in the vote this morning.