No Whip

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

"Right." I affirm the correctness of my order.
"With… no whip?" he questions in suspicion.

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

"With no… whip," he sighs, shocked by my audacity.
Wondering no doubt, on what planet I was born.

I drive away, shaking my head—thinking:
What kind of monster asks for "no whip"?