Thespianaire Extraordinaire!

(that may be overstating it a bit...)

I'm not sure exactly when I started chasing the theatre bug (or did it chase me?) (either or both are just as likely), but it was probably right around the time I started answering the door to find an (imagined) (of course) assassin with a machine gun firing at full bore, flinging my skinny little frame through the air to fall, dramatically onto the couch only to flop onto the floor, heart barely aflutter, struggling to stay alive right through my last faltering gasp. None of the dozens of deaths I performed were witnessed by anyone other than the occasional fly on the wall (or in flight) and my guardian angels. And, even though I have long since become a deeply entrenched thespianaire, I have yet to be called upon to demonstrate on stage or screen my proficiency in perishing. One day, I am sure however, the world will be so blessed.

Now, I'm perfectly aware that theatre (with the R E) is generally considered the English spelling and that any Americans using that spelling are pretentious snobs. Still, most of the perfectly reasonably unpretentious thespianaires I know on this side of the pond maintain that Theatre is an art form that takes place (usually) in a theater.

And for the record, Theatre found me and made me her slave, it wasn't me who was looking for her. And I think I can prove it.