Well, that's what it felt like...the sales/repairman, lacking any Janomes , set me up on a Brother machine, and walked away to tend another customer. I spent a couple of weird minutes rooting around on the floor, trying to locate a foot pedal. Looking about, I realized none of the machines had on e. That's when it dawned on me--Oh, sure,I leave the sewing room for 10 min utes, and they revolutionize machines. Pushing a button to run the machine seems so odd. The trouble is, my sewing brain is now in my foot. I cannot simply push a button and let the machine do the work. It feels disembodied. My foot wa s doing a jig beneath the sewing table. I've pedaled for so long, I don't k now if I can break this habit. I always pictured the morgue folks doing the autopsy on me, saying, "Yep--another tailor--lookit these muscles on her wrists, and see how di s-proportionately large her right calf muscles are!" As I do (or did) a lot of altering of ready-made garments, I need a mac hine with the option of a foot with small toes, the better to work in tight spaces and folds. Every machine in the shop had hideously huge, clunky feet. I had the od d feeling that I was viewing them through a magnifying glass.
Well, back to my collection of old-tyme Singers, with their tidy littl e straight-stitch foots...feets..footsies. Cea (Stegausauras Rex)