There you go, thinking outside the box again. Which suggests you should actually spend some time in a box.

Say, a sturdy, wooden box in the corner, with a couple doilies and a nice houseplant on top… maybe a couple holes drilled in the side, just so you can, I dunno, breathe or whatever. While you listen to me ramble on about ancient history and lame ‘90s bands and you kick and squeak like a pissed-off mouse in a trap.

But all that aside, really, don’t be afraid of the beard, Bratty. It wants to be your friend. Your scratchy, rapidly-graying friend.