The rescue

 I go to the grocery store this morning and, checking out, the counter with the null line is attended by a woman of a certain age – within, say, a decade of my own, more or less — whom I've never seen there before, so probably new. I put my stuff on the belt.

She picks up the first item, a bag of green stuff with reddish stems, and says, "Rhubarb, right?"

l say, "No, it's …

"…."

And there we stand. Helpless. Locked into some kind of mutual Senior Moment. Until, finally, some kid comes along and rescues us.

It's Swiss chard. Duh.