So, what about the matchmaking services we keep hearing about? The ones promising to eliminate all that bothersome deleting of Internet undesirables by focusing on core values and future goals rather than the physical (some won't even offer a sneak peek of Mr. or Ms. Potentially Wonderful before your first date).

The conventional wisdom is that people who pay out a sizable chunk of change for a dating service (about $1000 versus about $50 a month for computer-based services) are going to be more likely to be looking for serious relationship rather than simply trolling for dates.

So I decided to give it a try, meeting with the owners of a new, highly touted matchmaking service. That they had met on Match.com before marrying didn't concern me as much as it should have.

They quizzed me on age, income, religion, political views, physical likes and dislikes, height, and even weight (ouch!). They were curious about my past relationships: What went right? What went wrong? What was I looking for? I felt like I was on a first date with an investigative reporter.  

They told me modern yentas don't make matches by computer, instead relying on instinct to figure out which two people will click. They would ask for feedback after each date so they could further refine their search.

It is extremely rare for a perfect match to occur the first time out, they warned. And, once you've met someone you like, you're on your own: "We're responsible for the first two minutes of your date. The rest is up to you."

The deal was to find me three dates.

I was to meet my first one at a buzzed-about new restaurant. I got there first and was idly looking over the menu, glancing up every now and then, checking out each newcomer. My eyes went wide when I saw the handsome, hunky guy striding confidently over to my table. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark curly hair, Armani suit. Hot damn!

"Are you Nancy?" he asked, smiling warmly, revealing perfect teeth.

Oh yes, indeedy!

But he was just the manager and messenger, telling me that my date was late. Damn.

When my date finally showed up, in a plaid sport coat with a comb-over and bad teeth, I looked wistfully over at my date who wasn't, busy greeting and seating other guests. Not to be too shallow, but I was wondering what part of "he has to be attractive with a great smile" my yentas didn't understand.

The next date was also perfectly nice, but no bells, no whistles. Nada.

And the weeks went by. Surely they had more than two guys in their database? So I started calling, wondering when my prince would come.

My yentas were stalling...tentatively setting up a date with someone they knew "would be perfect for me," then canceling. Once. Twice. Three times. So when I actually went to meet bachelor number three, I wasn't expecting much.

He was a ringer for the aforementioned Armani-clad restauranteur. In really well fitting jeans. With a really great smile. He was smart, he was fun, he was sexy. All in all, we had a really great date.

Or so I thought. Until I learned from another client who was — get this — also matched with my exact matches, that Mr. Great Date was an actor pal of the owners, called in to play the role of future boyfriend to string along disenchanted clients.

Game over.