There's no dignity in a massage chair.

Last night Tina's mum had one of those super swish massage chairs delivered.  We all trooped over there (except J, who was still lolling around on the couch draining the last bit of sympathy for her sick day) and admired this new beast designed to alleviate all manor of aches and pains. Tina had a go first and aside form moan and groans his mother probably shouldn't know he makes, he said it was quite good and that I "should experience it for myself".

I squished myself into the chair and Tina used the remote control to start the thing and after the chair adjusted itself to "know" my body, it started.  It was quite pleasant and very massage-y.  I said to him that I thought the setting it was on was quite strong, what was it? "Seniors" he replied. Uh-huh. Seniors.  There are two things here - one - it was on bloody seniors setting and two - about 5 people were standing around watching me have bits of my body pummeled and probed and squashed. Not to mention the sight of my tummy and boobs wobbling all over the shop.  AND I was very good and restrained from letting Tina's mum hear my sex noises as this chair really does make you moan and groan!

I like the concept of these chairs and am sure they will provide all the massage and relaxation the user needs, I'm just not so sure about someone walking into my house and seeing me sitting in what essentially looks like a space ship pod chair with my hands and feet cocooned in little devices that when activated make escape impossible.

I definitely needed, in fact deserved, a wine after that (N.Z. Sauvignon Blanc).

This picture is strange on many levels. Does she know that he can't escape or does he think the chair is a toilet - his expression certainly points to that.

Time for Wine?

I think so.