Rated PG-13. 
Picture of wounded ankle.  

What do you do when you’re run over by a car’s tire? Hope they roll off, for starters. It’s as though Orlando Pace and Nate Newton decided to tackle you on one part of your body. You quickly review what just happened. “Sitting in parking lot, waiting for car to leave. Another car backs into me from behind. Woman in car acts weird. Then she flees the scene. I try to get her plate number and stop her. Car still rolling. I slip. Car runs over my ankle. Red shoes, scuffed. New Khakis, not new anymore. Coffee, not drunken yet. Esteban! Esteban!!!”

CUT TO:
Doctor's Office, Lobby 

Receptionist
So she ran into your car and fled the scene?

Me
Fled the scene.

Receptionist
So she ran over your foot?

Me
Yes.

Receptionist 
What did the police and insurance say? 

Me
They explained that as a responsible adult I should have let the driver damage my car and flee the scene. According to them I was wrong for trying to get her license plate number in an area without a cross walk. According to them "this is the world we live in today." 

Receptionist
They wanted you to just take it? 

Me
Just take it. 

Receptionist
Ran over your foot?

Me
Ran it over. Then reversed off of it, technically. At this point I didn’t know. I was lying down. I told myself "just go with it; be one with the tire; don't fight the tire." There was a car sitting on my ankle. I think it’s the upper dorsamus.

Receptionist
I’m pretty sure it’s not that.

Me
Sure.

Receptionist
And you just bought those Khakis yesterday?

Me
On sale.

CUT TO: 
Doctor’s Room

Doctor
So you got run over by a car?

Me
Cee.

Doctor
Looks like they ruined your red shoe.

Me
Cee.

Doctor
Did you get their insurance?

Me
Cee.

Doctor
What are you going to do?

Me
Sue.

(Thanks Jack Benny.)

Say what you will, had Tom Cruise been there, the Scientologist, he would have taken control, immediately, for the good of us all. He would have followed these steps:

First, separate the parties.

Second, acquire data.

Third, process data.

Fourth, subdue the situation.

Fifth, speak to the parties involved, taking notes, remaining calm.

Sixth, make certain no one is on any prescribed medication. (If so, offer a natural alternative.)

CUT TO:
Police officer arrives on scene

Officer
(to Cruise)
Get oughta here! That’s my job you freak.

CUT TO:
My Apartment

“No more soccer. No more badminton. No more basketball. Confined to quarters for undetermined amount of time. Pain pills not powerful enough. Forced to listen to The Cure on Pandora. Upper dorsamus in great pain. Watching Charlie Rose re-runs. Esteban! Esteban!!!”

Pictures of Fabio always ease the pain. 

New ideas can be frightening. So can old ones. 

What a great shirt for the U.S. team. Where'd this look go? 

And, for the life of me, I can't even begin to imagine what kind of brainstorming session this Iran uniform went through. "Hold it, hold it, wait, wait, I got it! All green with letters that say... 'Iran.' Pretty cool huh?" 

The shirt Derek Zoolander could've worn to the "after after" party, mistaking it for a marathon advertisement. Simple, elegant, one word. 

Tim Gunn, "Everybody, I have returned from Iran, on paid leave by the Shah of Persia, who conscripted me to design this divine piece. It's made of the finest, rarest, most delicate silk with imported Egyptian fiber cotton soaked in the Nile for seventy-two hours, hand-delivered by camelback...who am I kidding? It's just a T-shirt."