SWF SEEKS S/DWM...: YOU CAN FIND MORE THAN A USED WASHER AND DRYER IN THE CLASSIFIEDS

I don't quite know how this project started. One Sunday afternoon I was idly flipping through the classified section of the Southeast Missourian looking for a good used washer and dryer when a personal ad caught my eye.

"SWF, attractive, well-educated, seeks S/DM for friendship, maybe more."

How straightforward, I thought. How gutsy.

And then I turned to the appliances column.

But every now and then over the next few months, I'd glance through the personals section again, just to see what it had to offer.

I know a lot of single men and women. A common theme among us is how hard it is to meet somebody nice.

"There's nobody out there," a friend complains.

Then I got the idea: Let's find out who is out there.

In went the ad, which ran for two weeks.

And back came 31 responses. I don't know if I should be flattered or not.

I've learned three things.

1). Penmanship and spelling are lost arts.

2). Nobody uses stationery anymore. Legal pads, spiral notebook paper, "gimme" pads from the local lumberyard, yes, but no stationery.

3.) Yes, there are nice unmarried men in Southeast Missouri. Never married, divorced, with and without kids.

Because I'm a wienie (read: I think I can spot a serial killer by looking at a photograph), I asked for pictures with my letters.

The first letter I got arrived the Tuesday after my ad ran for the first time. The photo showed a nice-looking man standing with a woman in a hoopskirt.

How could I resist? I called him.

We chatted on the phone for a few minutes, and I joked, "I really didn't know what to expect. I'm just glad you weren't the one in the dress."

No laughter.

Oy.

We decided to meet for coffee that evening anyway.

Coffee isn't really a date, to my way of thinking. On a date, you're supposed to do something. Coffee is a nice, non-threatening way to gauge if you want to be seen in public with someone.

My social skills may be limited, but I can rationalize with the best of them.

And my attitude probably doesn't help. I know exactly where my place in the world is: On a pedestal.

As I was leaving to meet Bachelor No. 1, the radio station was playing REM's "It's the End of the World as We Know It." I decided not to take that as an omen.

I liked him. Nice-looking, easygoing, well-mannered. Divorced, with kids.

While we were chatting, I realized the rub of this assignment. What's the first thing people ask when they're getting acquainted?

"So, what do you do?" Bachelor No. 1 asked, a few minutes into the conversation.

I dupe unsuspecting men into thinking I'm a reasonably attractive, intelligent and caring individual and then I'm going to write about it.

"I'm a writer," I said.

I decided to let him figure out the attractive, intelligent and caring part for himself.

We decided to see a movie. Then I realized what he meant was get a video and watch it back at his place.

Well....OK.

A word of warning: Meet in a public place. I went back to BN1's place, but that can be risky, and I'm still wondering what I was thinking.

In fact, I was wondering what I was thinking while I was there. While we were watching the movie, he got up to check a noise in the hallway, then shut the door and locked it, probably out of habit. I do the same thing, but my antennae went way up.

Then the phone rang and he went to the other room to answer it. Ever intrepid, I snuck to the door, unlocked it, grabbed my keys out of my coat pocket and brought my purse back over to the couch, just in case I'd need to make a run for it.

Paranoia is a major roadblock on the path to love, but you can't be too careful.

When he came back, I was rooting through my purse for my lip balm.

Ahh, romance!

We said goodnight after the movie. I felt a little awkward, because it wasn't a date and it wasn't really an interview. "Well if you want, call me, or I'll call you," he said.

Bachelor No. 2 -- never married, no kids -- returned my call a few days later. We also met for coffee, but I was on my dinner break from work, so it was a little rushed.

He seemed very nice. We talked about how hard it is to meet people and why there aren't more activities for singles in the area.

I had to get back to work. "Well, if you want, call me, or I'll call you," he said.

There's an echo in here, I thought.

In the meantime, more letters were pouring in. I never realized how much it bothers me when people misspell words.

I had the same kind of assignment several years ago when I worked for a small paper a ways north of here. There were two men's prisons in the immediate area, and guess where most of the letters came from?

I got the impression the others who wrote just hadn't been convicted yet.

I kept getting letters that said things like, "My lawyer thinks this appeal should be successful," or, "I'm not saying I'm guilty, but I do have some issues that need to be straightened out right now."

My boss at the time kept reading the letters and saying things like, "You are not going out with this guy!" or "I bet Ted Bundy had handwriting just like this."

Somehow the story fizzled out.

My current boss kept looking at the letters and saying, "Oh, he's cute. Go out with him!" or "Oh, this one has a job!"

Of course, this time around, I did get a letter from a man who sent me a picture of himself with a dead deer; and the man who explained that his English wasn't very good because he's only been in the country a few months, but once he gets his green card, he'll have more time to study; and the man who listed his occupation as dishwasher/dating service owner.

No wonder I'm not married. I'm too picky.

Oh, and I got a letter from a local dating service inviting me to sign up.

But there were many more who sounded, at least, like very nice guys.

Of course, I'm the woman whose date was once arrested (during the date) on an outstanding warrant for unpaid traffic tickets.

Not that that means that he wasn't a nice guy...just a wanted felon.

Bachelor No. 3 and I met for coffee (not only have I met my date quota into the next millennium, I'm also gallons ahead on my caffeine quotient) and I had my first really bad date for months.

BN3 just wasn't my type. I can only describe him as Eeyore (you know, Winnie the Pooh's friend?) without the charm.

He groused about his job, his ex-wife, his car, his house, his life and the weather.

Oh, and coffee gives him headaches. Bad ones.

"You probably won't want to call me again," he said.

After we said goodnight, I was browsing through the bookstore part of the coffeeshop I've been frequenting and came across a pristine copy of "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Dating."

This I'll take as an omen, I thought, and bought it.

It has flashcards. Need I say more?

All in all, I've had a good time. But singles ads aren't for everyone. It takes a certain skin-thickness to advertise for some things, and it can be a little disconcerting to realize you're a commodity of sorts.

You know, "For Sale: Good used washer and dryer" in one column and "Woman available" in the next.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to read my mail.