Hi there. I’m Kristin. I’m 38 years old, currently single (but don’t worry, I’m accepting applications), and yes, I’m usually naked when I’m writing. Unless I’m cold, then I’m in socks. Just socks. Sexy, right? Nothing screams “goddess of free living” like a bare butt and fuzzy raccoon socks.

Now before you clutch your pearls and call your pastor, let me explain. I didn’t start out this way. I was born in a normal hospital wearing a normal baby beanie and a suspiciously large hospital diaper. It wasn’t until my 30s, after one too many failed relationships, a few glasses of boxed wine, and a deeply spiritual experience involving a nudist beach and an aggressive pelican, that I realized: clothes are overrated, and my butt deserves sunshine.

This book is not some preachy manifesto about shedding societal norms or embracing your inner goddess through moonlit yoni circles or whatever the hell Susan tried to get me into last spring. This is about real-life stories. It’s about flashing my gynecologist twice in one week, accidentally sitting bare-assed on a plate of deviled eggs, and the delicate art of explaining to a UPS driver why you answered the door completely nude with a margarita in one hand and a cucumber in the other (it was for a salad, perv).

I’ll tell you how I navigated my first nudist brunch without spilling mimosa on my left boob. I’ll share the time Tanya and I got into a screaming match over who had the better butt while completely naked in front of a Japanese tour group. I’ll walk you through the sacred art of choosing the right towel to sit on, how to politely decline a nudist drum circle invitation without sounding like a prude, and why Janessa once cried at a nude karaoke night because someone sang “My Heart Will Go On” while air-humping a beanbag chair.

You don’t have to be naked to read this. Hell, you don’t even have to like being naked. You just need a sense of humor, a tolerance for PG-13 body parts, and maybe a little curiosity about what happens when clothes come off and common sense sometimes goes right with them.

Welcome to my bare-all, no-shame, slightly inappropriate world. If you’re looking for enlightenment, you took a wrong turn at Gwyneth Paltrow. But if you’re looking for a book that’ll make you laugh so hard your left boob jiggles independently from your right, then baby, you’ve found your people.