To have a personal masseuse.
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It has been a long, tiring day. You arrive home and open your front door and instead of being greeted by the manic flash of your answer machine or a suspiciously thick stack of letters (aka bill reminders) which have been accumulating beside your manically flashing answer machine, you are welcomed by the wave of a professional hand and a waft of aromatherapy oil: your own personal masseuse...yes!
Now this masseuse is no ordinary masseuse. This is the masseuse of all masseuses; the ultimate masseuse. Masseuse Parfait. Masseuse Parfait doesn't talk to you whilst you are having your massage (as some feel so inclined to do). Masseuse Parfait doesn't tug at your body like a demonic four year old, pulling the limbs off Barbie for fun. Masseuse Parfait has toenails which are a pleasure to inspect, after all, when you're staring at the floor, there's nothing worse than coming face to face with toes of the fungal variety. And Masseuse Parfait has hands like liquid gold. Ah yes, there's nothing better than dozing off under the watchful eye and soothing hand of Masseuse Parfait. What's even better is that MP doesn't stop until you say so, and if you never say so, then MP never stops.
You get the picture... Masseuse Parfaits all round?
