"uuuuuuuhhhhh," I flipped through my mental files and, finding an alarming paucity for 'starch,' squeaked, "corn?"
Okay, I didn't actually say that, but I thought it, and it was fairly clear that the woman behind the counter knew. "Light, medium or heavy?" she asked, kindness and compassion and, perhaps, a smidge of pity in her voice.
"Light?" I ventured. Only two more guesses; I really wanted to get this right.
I really thought she was going to pat my hand. Instead, she smiled a little, nodded, and made a note. It might have said, "light starch," but I rather suspect it actually read, "be nice to this one. she's a bit special."