The name's Spade... Sam Spade. I'm a private eye but you wouldn't know it from how things had been going lately.

Business was so bad I hadn't had a case in months and I was getting itchy to get off my butt and start pounding the pavement for work. The only other person to come through my golden arches was the cleaning lady and lately it seemed like I couldn't even depend on her company.

It was yet another hot summer night. Seems like it had been like this every day for the last three weeks. I was about to pour myself one last shot of Jack Daniels before calling it a day.

To make matters worse, I was down to my last quarter and getting hungry. I thought I'd head over to Wimpy's for a burger, a cup of joe and maybe a slice of his homemade apple pie - my usual supper these days.

Good old Wimpy! Ever since that day I saved his life when he was being robbed by those punks. I helped send those guys up the river and was glad to see the creeps get ten years in the slammer. Even though I was practically penniless, I could always count on him for an advance.

Anyway, I was about to hang it up when all of a sudden I heard something I hadn't heard in ages - the sound of my doorknob turning! My eyes were fixed upon the door as it opened, and through it walked one of the most gorgeous dames I ever laid eyes on.

The classic, timeless beauty of Garbo, Taylor and Monroe immediately came to mind. This girl was gorgeous like them but there was something different about her and I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

She was tall and slender. She had dark brown, shoulder length hair with large curls resting on her shoulders much like how the water cascades at Niagara Falls. She was wearing black stiletto pumps, and black silk stockings which showed off every delicious curve of her legs. Her ruby red lips were full and luscious.

Her dress was bright red and while not exactly mini-length, it allowed her to display enough of her splendid figure that you didn't mind having something left to the imagination. In fact, you rather enjoyed it.

The dress had a neckline that seemed to plunge all the way to the equator. I was following it like a downhill skier when I noticed she had the biggest pair of... glasses I had ever seen. God, were they huge! Her face was beautiful and I even though I couldn't make out her eyes, I knew intuitively they had to be beautiful as well.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm looking for Mr. Spade. Would you be he?" she asked.

I rose from my chair. "Yes, ma'am. Please have a seat. What can I do for you?"

"I'm so distressed, Mr. Spade. People are following me and I don't know why. Do you care if I smoke?

"Not at all. Mind if I join you? And please call me Sam."

She put the cigarette to her lips, and I flicked my lighter on. As I leaned over the desk to light her cigarette, I was able to get a glimpse of her glasses.

They were black frames. Not too large that they dominated her face, but sized just right so that they had the appearance of deftly applied mascara. The lenses were immaculate. I could have dusted all night and not found one set of fingerprints. The edges were polished slightly, but not enough to substantially alter their thickness.

I could see my reflection in her lenses from the light of the flashing neon hotel sign across the street. I was in awe and my jaw was dropping faster than an loaded freight elevator whose cable had just snapped. I quickly composed myself.

She continued "Thank you, Sam. Someone... actually it seems like someone or some people are following me wherever I go. I just don't understand it. I haven't stolen anything. I haven't done anything illegal."

"What do you mean you're being followed?"

"I don't know why people are acting so strange around me lately. When I walk down the street men approach me and gaze at me. When I pass them, I get the feeling that they are staring at me, so I turn around and they are! Sometimes after they pass me, they turn around and start following me."

"Well, you know you are quite a tomato if you don't mind me saying so. I can see where you could turn a few heads."

"But this is different. I've always known how to deal with the usual advances of men."

"When did you first start to notice this behavior?"

"I can't say exactly. I just moved into town a couple of weeks ago and began a job as a data entry computer operator. The worst case was after I came out of an office and one man came right up to me and followed me for several blocks before I was able to lose him."

"Did anything unusual occur at this office?"

"No. I was my optometrist's for a routine eye appointment. After a couple of days on the job, my neck and eyes became strained and my doctor determined it was caused by my eyewear and having to move my head constantly to read the monitor. So I saw my optometrist and he fitted me with these new glasses."

As she spoke, she frequently adjusted her glasses as they slid down her nose. Sometimes one hand, sometimes both hands; sometimes one finger, sometimes multiple fingers. She never adjusted them the same way twice. I applauded her virtuoso performance mentally and was hoping for an encore.

I said "What did your last pair of glasses look like?"

"They were the standard wire-rimmed, small oval, high-index glasses you see many people wearing these days."

I had seen this type so often they made my head spin. I didn't let on about my distaste for that style.

"Can I see your glasses?"

"Pardon me?"

"Your glasses; can I take a look at your glasses?"

She removed them with both hands and extended her glasses to me across my desk. I stood up to retrieve them from her. I didn't want to break those babies because I knew if I did, I'd be on the receiving end of a left hook that would make Joe Louis blush.

"I've haven't seen these style glasses in years. What made you decide on these particular frames?

"Well, I wanted to see all sections of the monitor screen without having to move my head. So I decided on oversize lenses. I couldn't get high-index lenses for these frames because the optometrist said they would be too heavy."

I knew what she was talking about. If she went with the high-index lenses, there would be more lead in them than the Mesaba Range.

"So I went with standard lenses; that is why they are so thick. Also, because of the frame style, I can't position them all the way up my nose so I had to get an even stronger prescription to compensate for that."

All of a sudden a jolt went through me. It was her glasses that was causing all the attention! Then I knew what was happening - I was hooked on glasses. Yes, I was a glass-oholic; an optic obsessive; a goggle ogler; a spec inspector.

I always thought the reason I watched 'How to Marry a Millionaire' was because I idolized Marilyn Monroe. I also watched 'Strangers on a Train' but quit watching after the first twenty minutes. I never knew the reason why until now.

As a kid, my friends would play on Saturdays. Instead of joining them, my father made me help clean up my grandfather's optical store. I would rummage through the waste baskets and read the optical magazines. I was captivated by the articles. Suddenly, words which I hadn't seen or heard in ages raced through my mind: myopia, diopter, astigmatism, hyperopia, lenticular. I remembered what they all meant.

At that moment, I realized something... I had in my hand that which every guy who likes girls with glasses would kill for. I was holding the Holy Grail of glasses! From that moment on, I treated them with reverence and respect.

I snapped out of my stupor. "Are you aware there are many men who would kill to go out with a beautiful gal like you with glasses? This is what's happening with you and these men." I couldn't include the words 'like me' in my statement but I knew it was true.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what makes you so attractive is these glasses. They turn certain guys on. You know, like some men like full-figured women, blondes, and so on."

I stood up and met her around the desk. I slipped her glasses on her but instead of withdrawing my hands, I gently clasped her head and drew her towards me. Our lips met like two oncoming trains and we kissed for what seemed like an eternity. She latched onto my waist like the handrail of a Coney Island roller coaster and held on for dear life.

It was then I knew I had the only thing I really ever wanted in this crazy world.

Case closed.