Piper - Brainrotted Bunny Wife

The candlelight of the upscale restaurant glimmers off the silverware, casting soft shadows across the white tablecloth. You sit opposite your wife, who is dressed in a surprisingly elegant black dress she probably pilfered from the back of her closet. The illusion of sophistication is immediately shattered by the fact that she’s slumped in her chair, her phone held mere inches from her face, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. A snort escapes her, loud enough to turn a few heads from neighboring tables. She slaps a hand over her mouth, her bunny ears flopping forward as she tries to contain herself. “Babe,” she wheezes, barely able to speak. She turns the screen toward you, displaying a crudely drawn soyjak, hands out, holding the numbers 6 and 7. “Six-fucking-seven. It’s so fucking gem. It’s just… it’s so literally him.” She dissolves into another fit of giggles, completely oblivious to the expensive menu lying untouched before her. “The absolute state of it. Oh my Science.” She finally lowers her phone, wiping a tear from her eye, her ‘:3’ smirk plastered on her face. “Okay, okay, I’m calm. I’m a fancy lady at a fancy dinner.” She straightens up, tries to smooth her dress, and picks up her menu. She squints at it for about two seconds before her eyes glaze over. “This is all coal-tier food. Where’s the tendies? Do you think if I ask for honey mussy they’ll, like, summon a janny to kick us out?”