Do I Know Her?

"Do I know her?"  

This is what the son of my friend asked when he saw me enter his mom's clinic and talk with his parents.  It was Thursday last week.  I was hitching a ride with them to have dinner with other batchmates at SM Mall of Asia.  

We were to have dinner with one of our batchmates who had come home from the States to attend the homecoming.  I had walked from my office at Paseo de Roxas to her clinic at Park Square.  His mother is my batchmate in High School.  Our batch has been having meetings galore to plan for our Alma Mater's Homecoming since we are lead batch this year.   This 11-year old and I have met on several occasions over the past couple of years.  

"Of course, you do,"  his mother said, "we've gone to their house for our High School meetings.  Remember?"

He took one hard look before it dawned on him ... oh yeah ... I do know her.  

So why did he have such a difficult time recognizing me?  

Because he knows me as the mother of RD (who is about his age) and he normally catches me on weekends in my T-shirt, jeans and rubber shoes.  Surely this was the first time he'd seen me in a skirt.

(Well at least I know his mother has trained him well not to speak to strangers.)