One time, I flew to Brisbane to stalk Debbie Reynolds.
Yep. Some people might have crushes on the Hollywood hunks like Chris Hemsworth or Brad Pitt, but not me – I was chasing a 74-year-old 5-foot-2 grandma. Debbie Reynolds. My number one hero.
I hung around the stage door of the QPAC theatre like an absolute creep. I was 19 – the same age Debbie was when she starred in Singin’ In The Rain. I had a picture of her that I had printed on photo paper from our dodgy home printer, so there were green horizontal lines across her face and an ink blot on her eye – but it was made with love.
I had hopes that she would come out between her matinee and evening performance, and I would ask her to sign my picture, then we would get chatting about her films and her comedy career and crack witty jokes about the weather and then she would eagerly adopt me as her new best friend, despite the 55-year age gap between us.
A girl can dream.
Anyway, she didn't come out the stage door, and I didn't get to meet her that day. The security guard told me it was because she had a nap between shows. If ever there was an excuse I could respect, it's naps. It just further cemented my Debbie love.
Fortunately, I got to meet her a week later, for a shining two seconds after her Adelaide show. She said "hellooooo" and signed my program. I almost fainted. At 74, she was so beautifully elegant standing by the stage door, a black shawl around her shoulders, her hair pinned up in a classy coiff. She was surrounded by little grey-haired fans pushing for her autograph, most of them gushing about her work in Tammy or The Unsinkable Molly Brown, practically kissing her feet. She just smiled warmly and patiently at each and every person, even though she must have been delirious with exhaustion from her two-hour show of energetic singing and dancing (at 74!). (Post continues after gallery.)