Massage at home: the ultimate luxury

The last time I had a massage at home was for my baby shower. The masseuse talked the whole way through about her cavoodle Bruce, and then tried to guilt me into paying her parking ticket because she parked in a no stopping zone. Needless to say it wasn’t the most relaxing experience.

So you could forgive me for being a little skeptical going down the ‘massage at home’ route again.

There’s just something about going to a spa – it’s the vibe. The music, the aromas, the sense of calm... The fact there’s someone to greet you on arrival whose sole job it is to brew a signature herbal tea blend, and hand deliver delightful miniature – yet often gluten free – treats. Then there’s the always deliciously comfortable arm chairs and the wide selection of glossy mags I usually only flirt with at the newsagency because I just can’t justify spending $15 on something that is about 80 per cent ads – even if it does come with a free mascara. That’s a little different to having a rub down at home, where you unfold yourself from the table post massage only to be greeted by a floor covered in discarded crumpet crumbs and piece of lego; also known as the most painful apparatus known to the human foot. But I thought hey, I’ll try anything twice.

And boy I’m glad I did!

I still can’t believe I’m a ‘massage at home’ convert. Preach the good word. It obviously had a lot to do with the masseuse - who we will from this point on refer to as the ‘Magnificent Mute’ or ‘MM’. It’s a personal thing, but I just don’t like conversation when I’m trying to relax (and simultaneously prevent strings of drool from leaving my gaping mouth). I don’t even like to chat at the hairdressers. And I certainly refrain from small talk – other than the odd four-letter adjective – when I visit the beautician, if you know what I mean…

This massage at home was glorious! MM set up her table in my bedroom – far from the remnants of Master 18 Month’s morning snack platter, the majority of which landed on and around the floor. Thankfully said toddler had also been removed from the premises – so this was not really a controlled experiment as we’ll never know if it was the massage that was so good, or the fact that I got a break from Mummy Duty for a little while. Nevertheless, it was a glorious 60 minutes.

In the comfort of my very own bedroom, MM managed to recreate the full spa experience – candles, a sound machine and deliciously warm towels all combined to make me feel incredibly pampered. And the best part? When the massage was over I could just slip into my robe, instead of pulling my clothes on over greasy skin. It was also approximately 15 steps to the bathroom where I could enjoy a long hot shower, instead of folding myself into the car and sitting in mind boggling traffic to get home, effectively ruining any sense of calm the massage had achieved.

What a treat! This would be a great experience if you want to treat yourself, and is particularly convenient for pregnant women who are too tired to get out and about. I have also booked this experience in for the morning of a hens do for my best friend. And the lads will love it too – especially after a tough day on the couch playing some serious armchair footy or cricket.