MY life flashed before my eyes the other day – but I wasn’t near death.I was in “Lifegame” – and my life, such as it is, was an open book to 200 strangers.

Acting on the premise that “everybody has a story,” London’s Improbable Theatre Company asks people to share their lives – or, at least, the parts they care to share.

After the guests answer questions from an on-stage interviewer, the actors take it from there – improvising dialogue, dramatizing dreams.

They’ve done it in London and California, and since Sept. 12 they’ve been doing it in New York, at the Jane Street Theater.

That’s where I found myself the other day, having gamely volunteered to be a guest – despite my mother’s warning: “Gee, you haven’t had much of a life.” (No ticket for you, mom.)

As required, I showed up 90 minutes before showtime to meet the cast. Lee Simpson, the troupe’s interviewer, tried to put me at ease.

“You have no responsibility to be funny, interesting or entertaining,” he said. “That’s our job.”

I expected to be debriefed. Instead, the actors insisted that the less they knew about me, the better. They had me practice talking into a mike, then gave me a bell and a horn.

“If we get it right – played it how it was – ring the bell,” Simpson said. “If we don’t, honk the horn.”

During the practice, I tooted, I rang … I despaired. When the cast left to change, I sat there, convinced my life wasn’t stage-worthy.

“It’s like waiting for a roller coaster,” soothed the show’s empathetic stage manager, Jason Scott Eagan. “The scariest part is waiting to go on.”

Next thing I knew, Simpson was introducing me. Blindly, I lurched onstage.

First I picked the actress who’d play my alter ego – a no-brainer, since Angela Clerkin has the same short dark hair and slight build I do.

Then we began with the early years. I mentioned my grandmother, calling her “a champion worrier.”

“A champion warrior?” Simpson asked, delighted. “A fighter?”

I tried to imagine tiny Grandma Rose with her dukes up. “No, no,” I stammered. “She fretted a lot.”

But the troupe seized on “warrior” and wouldn’t let it go.

In one fantasy scene, little Barbara is abducted by a UFO. “Oh no!” the alien shrieks. “Isn’t she the one with that fierce Jewish grandmother? Let’s go to a gentile house!”

I laughed so hard my mascara dripped.

Later came a dream of romance with John Lennon. A park bench and branches materialized as he serenaded me:

“Sometimes it’s really tough, man,

“To be in love with Barbara Hoffman …”

Never mind that the actor sounded more like Ringo than Lennon. It was bliss.

They say there are no second acts in American lives, but there was in mine.

After intermission we covered my lousy first marriage and my happy present one. I even got to play God, sitting beside my pregnant alter ego. I told her to forget natural childbirth and take the anesthetic.

And then I died. The scene played as I hope it will in my real life: during a passionate moment with my husband, both of us well on in years. A small, winged puppet soared off the stage.

My life was over, and the applause began.

My husband loved it. Surprisingly, some strangers did, too. A man from New Jersey thanked me for reminding him of incidents in his own life.

Lately I find myself missing the troupe. Hey, guys – thanks for the memories.

“Lifegame,” now in previews,opens Sept. 28 at the Jane StreetTheater. To be a guest, visithttp://www.lifegamenyc.com or call(212) 768-0397.