Where to begin talking about my massage chair? Shall I compare it to a summer's day? It is definitely more lovely and more temperate. In fact it's just about better that the object of any love poem or devoted utterance every made in the history of time.
As one of life's indulgences and as a remedy for long hours spent lugging heavy camera bags about then hunching in front of Photoshop, I used to get an hour-long massage every week.
But as any working parent will know, finding a spare hour for self-indulgence once a year is a push, let alone once a week.
Multi-tasking is the key to a successful life. And just as I have learned to discuss the finer details of wedding planning with one hand holding my phone and the other reaching for a clean nappy, so too have I become adept at spoiling myself rotten while working hard at the same time.
True, my massage chair is not quite in the league of a pair of highly skilled hands, but it's a bloody good second best, especially when you can enjoy it while still having both hands free to write an email.
But just like all multi-tasking situations, there are a few downsides to deal with. Conveniently, though, the small team that sits either side of me bears the brunt of these. To their credit they have found remarkably creative ways to zone out from the noise of a vibrating chair and its occupant, who tends to be highly vocal in a not entirely professional manner when the chair really hits the spot.
My small son is less patient, which is why the chair (more of a large chair-shaped pad) ended up at work instead of its original location, which was strapped to the chair where he is read his bedtime story.
Toddlers generally don't like their mothers doing anything at all unless it's all about them, let alone getting a massage while they're supposed to be focusing on reading 'The Hungry Caterpillar' (for the hundredth time that week).
The unexpected upshot is that my posture while working has become faultless, due to the need to sit upright and maximize the pressure of the chair.
I've also stopped being the sort of annoying wife who nuzzles up to her husband kitten-like in the hope of scoring a quick squeezeof the shoulder blades.
But of course I've also had to be careful not to become the wife who lets it slip her true love is in danger of being pushed off his perch in favour of a vibrating chair.
-Eva Bradley is a columnist and photographer.
