Inflated and Burst in One Breath

I Just called in an order to a local Olive Garden restaurant for a birthday celebration at the shop tomorrow.

The phone was picked up on the second ring, and an unintelligible stream of syllables flew out of the handset so quickly that I literally moved the phone away from my ear and stared at it for a moment in confusion.

Naturally, I immediately questioned whether I had called the right number.

"I'm sorry," I hesitated, "but I didn't understand a single word of what you just said. Is this the Olive Garden Restaurant?"

A female voice, dripping with sexy Italian intonation replied, "Yes sir. I apologize. I said, 'Buon giorno, grazie per chiamare il ristorante Olive Garden.'" *

Except this time, she said it with such a languid, sultry slowness that put me in mind of gauzy, white, off-the-shoulder blouses and raven tresses framing olive skin.

I was transported for a moment into a fantasy world of Sophia Loren's eyes, Monica Bellucci's mouth and Gina Lollobridida's ... er ... talents. 

Breaking what must have seemed like an extended, awkward silence, it was with dismay that I received her next statment, in clear, Texas twang - now devoid of the artifice that so evoked my previous reaction: "They make me say that." I could practically hear the gum in her mouth now, smacking against crooked teeth set behind cartoonishly painted lips.

"Yeah..." I sighed, once the shock and disappointment had worn off. 

"Yeah, um ... I'd like to place an order for pickup..."

*This may or may not be her exact words. This is based on my sketchy grasp of Italian and dodgy memory.