No Whip

"Medium chocolate milkshake—with no whip,"
repeats the drive-through voice in disbelief.

"Right." I say.
"With… no whip?" he asks, as if I've misspoken.

"Yes," I say again, making sure we agree.
I pull up to the window. He glares, can of whip in hand.

"With no… whip," he sighs, shocked by my audacity.
His hand trembles as he hands me the cup.

I see it clearly in his face:
What kind of monster asks for "no whip"?
Evidently… me.