The other day, while having a quick lunch with a friend, a woman came over to my table to say hello.

“It’s so great to see you,” she gushed. I tried to look very happy to see her, but the truth was I had absolutely no idea who she was. “This is my friend Chris,” I said, hoping that she might introduce herself.

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” she said. “Sara, I haven’t seen you for ages. Did you really just have another baby?” she asked, failing to fall for my introduction trick.

She looked very familiar — I’ll give her that. My mind began to race: Was she a parent at one of my children’s schools? Did I attend some Mommy and Me class with her over the years? Did we work together years ago? Was she married, like I am, to a South African? Did we spend time together on vacation in December? Did we go to college together? High school? Hebrew school? Summer camp?

No luck. Only later that evening did I figure out who she was: a close friend of one of my close friends. Over the past decade, we had met several times at birthday parties and social functions.

This unpleasant experience is, unfortunately, happening to me with more and more frequency. And although I’m not analytically clear on the connection between this encounter and parenting — the heart of this column — I am confident that the majority of 40-year-olds with children are nodding their heads in recognition; while the bulk of 40-year-olds without offspring are wondering what the heck I’m talking about.

Part of this, of course, has to do with the sheer physical and emotional exhaustion that comes along with the joys of parenthood. And another part of this has to do with the vast number of acquaintances you make in the process of raising one child — let alone two or three. Each child has dozens of different classmates in nursery school, in kindergarten, and maybe again in high school. You learn some of the children’s names. You learn some of their parents’ names. You learn the names of their friends from soccer teams. You cheer on the sidelines with their parents — some of whose names you learn. Then it’s a different sports season or school year or camp, and with it, you learn a different set of names. It goes on and on.

To help myself cope with this distressing phenomenon, I’ve made myself a little playbook on how to best handle this awkward situation.

Rule 1: Avoid the Deer Look

When you find yourself in this awkward situation, try not to look like a deer caught in headlights. The deer look is a dead giveaway that you have absolutely no idea who you’re talking to. Try to relax, smile, and confidently say something such as, “It’s so nice to see you,” or “Wow, it’s been a long time.”

Rule 2: The Introduction Trick

My husband and I have an understanding that if we introduce each other without introducing the other person by name, it is because we cannot remember the other person’s name. We then know to say something like, “Hi, I’m Sara, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m so sorry — I didn’t catch your name.” The mystery is instantly solved.

Rule 3: Ask Questions

If there is no spouse or friend to be a foil in your introduction trick, calmly begin by asking questions. Chances are, if you ask enough of them without appearing to pry, you will solve the mystery. Some fairly safe questions to consider asking are: “It’s been so long — when was the last time we saw each other?” The answer to this question might be enough to jog your memory. If not, how about: “How is your family?” When you hear the names of this person’s children or siblings, you might be in business. If it is during the winter, you might consider asking a benign question such as, “Do you have any plans to get out of the cold weather for a few days?” The mention of an annual destination might jog some bells. Or in May or June, you might ask about summer plans, which might help you place the individual.

Rule 4: Try Not to Be Too Specific

Don’t make the mistake of asking someone about her children, unless you are confident that she has children. Don’t ask someone about his parents unless you are absolutely sure that his parents are alive and kicking.

Rule 5: If You Figure It Out Midway, Insert the Name

If a little light goes on in what’s left of my little brain, and I manage to summon up the person’s name, I try to make it clear that I know exactly who I’m talking to. This is not just in case she has begun to deduce the fact that I have no idea who she is. But this is also to reinforce the connection between the name and face should I happen to bump into her again. “Holly,” I might say, “I hope that next time we’ll be able to really catch up.”

Alternatively, to all of the above, you could just confess that you’re having a premature senior citizen’s moment, and that you can’t remember the person’s name. But that would be acknowledging the reality that, well, you’re a premature senior citizen. And why, at this point in one’s life, would anyone want to acknowledge that?

sarasberman@aol.com