The Irony of Protective Eyewear

Two weeks ago I bought a new racquetball racket.  Why?  Well, I took two classes in college and just joined a gym with racquetball courts.  So, naturally, I would have no idea where my old rackets were and would therefore need a new one.  But as I stood in the aisle at Sports Authority, I couldn't decide what to actually get.  I knew I needed a racket, but they range in price from nothing to something, so how to choose?  Definitely some blue balls, but those teal balls were a better price...oops they are squash balls which wouldn't work.  And then I saw it, the bag with everything:  racket, sweat band, balls, and even protective eyewear.

I have never owned protective eyewear, but I believe.  I mean, considering I knocked out my own tooth, who knows what else I could do (my front tooth is a fake from an embarrassing shot in an unimportant racquetball game).  So, I decided I should be responsible and get and actually use the protection.  And I have.  No matter how silly I look with my sweatband and goggles...I've worn both. 

And what has wearing my protective eyewear given me?  A scratched cornea.  Ok, I didn't scratch it on the court.  I didn't even scratch it at all.  Chase was handing me a menu while we were out and he poked it right into my open and unassuming left eye.  The tricky part was that the corners were reinforced metal corners (a lot of restaurants have them, I've just never really noticed before).  Anyhow, as I held my eye in agony, I remember thinking that he had popped it;  that I would only have one eye for the rest of my life.  But it is fine.  It was painful, and they numbed it at the urgent care, and since then I just feel like I have something in my eye I want to rub out but can't (foreign object sensation is what the doctor called it).

I still can't believe I scratched my eye the first week I have ever even considered protecting my eyes.  Oh, the irony...complain, complain, complain.