Accidental Eye Contact: (and Other Nude Party Nightmares!)

I didn't plan on becoming the woman who lost her bikini top in a YMCA hot tub and thought, "Hey, maybe this is who I am now." But here we are. Welcome. My name's Kristin, I'm 38, I've got a decent rack, questionable taste in men, and a wildly inappropriate sense of humor. Also, I'm naked a lot. Like, a lot. Not in a creepy neighbor-watching-through-the-blinds kind of way. More in a "clothes are overrated and my thighs deserve vitamin D too" kind of way.

This book? It's about that life. The nude life. And if you're clutching your pearls right now thinking "Oh my stars, is this just gonna be naked people doing the cha-cha in public parks?" - first of all, calm down, and second of all, only once, and it was very liberating.

I wrote this book because the world needs two things: more laughter and fewer wedgies. Living nude - or mostly nude, or even just sometimes nude like during a solo laundry day dance party - is about freedom. Not the fake kind where you pretend to love your Spanx but secretly can't feel your spleen. The real kind. The kind where your body jiggles and you laugh anyway. The kind where you see someone's very unfortunate tan line and you high five them for showing up anyway.

Now, let me be clear: this is not one of those meditative, whispery, "embrace your inner goddess" books. I mean, sure, embrace her if she shows up, but mine usually shows up late and drunk with half a corn dog. I'm not here to sell you on perfection. I'm here to tell you about the time my best friend Tanya got us kicked out of a clothing-optional spa because she tried to start a nudist wrestling league in the mud pit. And also to give you real, useful tips for how to live a happier, more ridiculous, slightly sunburned nude life.

Because nude parties are not for the faint of heart. You will make accidental eye contact. You will slip on a cucumber slice. You will see parts of people you never asked to see. And if you're anything like me, you will also find a version of yourself that laughs louder, breathes easier, and doesn't give two fig leaves what anyone thinks.

So take your pants off. Or leave them on for now. I'm not the nude police. But just know, once you get a taste of that breeze on your butt crack, you might never go back.

Let's get into it.