Dear Diary:

My husband and I had just left a thrilling performance of “Three Tall Women,” and we were headed to get a bite to eat with some friends.

We were at the corner of 45th Street and Eighth Avenue when I felt a hand touch my shoulder.

“Here he is,” someone said. “My God, we’ve been waiting for you!”

I turned and found myself face to face with John Waters, the writer and director of many of my favorite films of the past 35 years.

“I don’t think you know me,” I said, taking in the familiar face complete with pencil-thin mustache, “but I certainly know you!”

He was with a tall, attractive woman.

“Oh, that’s not him,” the woman said, referring to me.

John Waters mumbled something — an apology, maybe — and the two of them walked away.

I was still processing the encounter when my friends asked if I had recognized the woman.

“No,” I said, “I was just looking at him.”

Turns out it was Jessica Lange.

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