Punishment out of Love

So, in case you're not following me on Twitter and don't know, I had an, um, mishap today with my toenails.
See, in summer when I'm wearing open-toed sandals non-stop, I typically wear fake toenails. You know, the kind you can buy at just about any drugstore.

They look neat and sleek and awesome--when done right. That means devoting time and a certain amount of space to the task at hand, so you can focus on making sure each nail fits good and is on right and you're using the right amount of glue.
I was in a hurry today. My shoes were already going on my feet when I suddenly looked down and remembered I had to put on my fakes. So what did I do? Did I take off my shoes, head to the bathroom, and focus on the process? No. No, that would have made sense. I went to the bathroom and tried to do a half-assed job of it--with my shoes still on, no less. Guess what happened?
I super-glued my feet to my shoes.
Yes, you read that right.
At this point, I faced another choice. I could have taken a step back, a deep breath, thought about the enormity of what had just happened along with the hundred different ways it might continue to go wrong, looked for some kind of instructions on the pamphlet labeled "what to do if you glue your skin to your shoes, you fuckin' idiot" and followed it to the letter. But did I do that?
No, of course not. Again, that would have made sense. 
You see a pattern emerging here?
I grabbed some nail polish remover, some toilet paper, poured the polish remover into said paper, and began to try to drip it into the space connecting my skin to the wicked shoes. Mind you: this might have worked, eventually. Nail polish remover is one way of dissolving the glue. But it takes time.
Did I give it time? Three guesses.
I dripped, and ripped. Dripped, and ripped.
Until the shoes were off my feet, along with a quite a bit of nausea-inducing skin. My poor toes bled and throbbed, and looked like they'd had a fight with a meat tenderizer, and lost. Not very neat or sleek or awesome at all.
I wanted to cry at this point. Not because of the pain--the toes hurt, but I have a very high pain tolerance--but because my feet were going to look ridiculous now, and they did. Not only did I have to deal with the physical consequences, I also had to deal with the physiological and social ones, of walking around totally self-conscious and feeling like an idiot.
So here's where I get to the point of this post. I called Husband and told him what happened. And, just like I thought, he chuckled for a minute. But then he got concerned, and mad, and upset that I'd been in such a hurry and so quick to act, I hadn't thought of the consequences of my actions. I have a punishment coming now, I doozy, and it's not even one I can protest, cause I deserve it.

Sometimes punishments are necessary to keep subs from doing stupid things that hurt themselves. Sometimes we subs need to be reminded that our bodies do not belong to (only) us, and we have to keep ourselves safe and healthy whole, if not for us, then for our Doms. Like anything of value held dear, our Doms trust us to keep ourselves safe when they cannot, and if we break that trust, we deserve what we have coming.

I would be so much more hurt if Husband didn't care, if his attitude was, "sorry you hurt yourself baby, what's for dinner?"
He takes my health so seriously.
I didn't cry over my toes, but I have a feeling I'll be crying tonight by the time he's done with me. But I'll feel the love behind the punishment, too.