I'm an old-fashioned girl, partial to long cool drinks, and lace, and manners and decency, and the gentle rhythms of an earlier day. But I do possess a fax machine!

I keep it on the tea wagon that I grew up with as a child, the one with the frayed rattan handles. This way the machine is out of the harsh sunlight, and I can wheel it with me wherever I may need. In today's fast-flying world, I cannot risk becoming incommunicado!

It was sitting beside me at the bay window when it began to emit that hideous screeching and hissing sound -- a sound which, I admit, has begun to make me salivate just like any dog. I'm a simple soul, who's happy as long as she has her brandy and chocolates in the morning. But I do get...lonely from time to time.

Who could it be? It was a specially faxed newsletter. It was to my personal attention. Now that -- I confess! -- did catch my eye.

And so it was with a feeling of dread that I realized that the shiny paper which my fax machine seemed to stick out at me like an ugly tongue, came not from some suitor, nor from the Continent, nor even from the Boston Brahman who claims to own an Island off the coast of India, and who wants to take me there and live simply among the natives and the rushes and the reeds. No, this was from someone named Peter. I couldn't make out the last name from the signature -- it looked to be Russian chicken-scratch. Peter something-or-other, perhaps.

How on earth did they get my number? I'm scared to death of having my privacy compromised. My life is chock-full of compromises as it is! And I have no desire -- none whatsoever! -- to add one more.

I examined it. It described what are known as -- investment vehicles. We are not talking about Bentleys and Rovers and Rolls Royce automobiles -- no! We're talking about dull and dreary terms such as bonds and equities and zero coupons and options. I examined the numbers -- my Great Uncle Earl, I would remind you, was Chairman of the Charleston Savings and Loan, before it went belly-up in that whopper of a scandal -- and I could see the numbers plain as day.

The stocks, it said, were up 15%.

The bonds were giving 8%

The money funds were straggling back behind the pack like the runt of a litter: 3%

Oh, but the options! The options glittered like magic diamonds on a Christmas tree in winter!

They were up over seven thousand percent!!

Why, if I had that sort of rich lustrous loot cascading into my purse, I could afford to repurchase the lost plantations of my youth!

It was really quite simple, according to the sheet. All I needed do was pick up the telephone receiver and compose a simple sequence of digits -- and I'd be home-free!

A little ghost inside me wondered if, if that were so, how could it be? Why wouldn't everyone do the same thing? But I too am entitled to some good fortune in life, am I not? As a matter of fact I'd say I've been deprived in that department, and that my time is long, long overdue!

But then the machine's bell rang again -- and made a sound altogether unlike any it has made in the past. So much so that I believed it might be necessary to call upon the services of that crass Roderigo fellow from upstairs to come down and douse it with oil. It was a jingling sound. And before my amazed eyes, emerged a message from someone whose face I had never beheld -- someone named Motley Fool.

The astounding -- unbelievable! -- part was that it came through in brilliant colors. And it said: You must not be misled by this thread of information! Before making your decision, allow the entire tapestry to unfurl, lest you end up buying a piece of dreck!

I don't speak German -- but I knew enough to know that someone, somewhere, from some place out in the eternal light, was sending me a message. "This tapestry of options is torn," said the Foolish Fax, because:

1) 80% of all options expire worthless

2) The 'spread' on options is enormous

3) Options have a time-limit, and therefore limit your flexibility

4) All of the above

The answer is 4) All of the above.

An option gives you the right to buy (or to sell) a share at a given price. But the spread -- the difference between the ask (which you pay when you buy the stock or option) and the bid (which you pay when you're ready to sell) can be 10% or higher. This means that the moment you buy your options, you're already in the hole 10%.

In addition, options have an expiration date. This means that, if the stock hasn't performed as you're hoping by that date, you lose all your money. This is in contrast to what happens if you buy and hold the stock itself (not an option on it) -- in which case you can practice the high art of patience, hold as long as you like, and sell when you like.

In order to make money on options, you must not only bet on the direction that the stock is moving, but you must do it within a very small time frame. It's true that you could stand to make dizzying returns if you guess right, but four out of five bettors are leaving their money at the table. You can probably do better than that at Vegas, and have free drinks to boot.

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