Y’all, let me just start by saying this book should probably come with a warning label like a gas station burrito: “May cause unexpected tingling and a strong desire to take your pants off.”

My name is Kristin. I’m a 37-year-old woman with a solid B-cup chest, a lifetime of questionable decisions, and a deep love for two things: carbs and being naked. I didn’t choose the nude life—okay yes I did—but let’s not pretend this journey was glamorous or well-thought-out. I didn’t wake up one day and say, “You know what would make laundry easier? NEVER HAVING TO WEAR PANTS AGAIN.” It just happened. Like adult acne. Or falling for men named Kyle. (If your name is Kyle, I'm sure you're lovely. Statistically, though, you're probably not.)

Now listen. I’m not one of those serene, smooth-skinned goddesses you see gliding down the beach in herbal shampoo commercials. When I first tried being naked in public, I was more like a confused raccoon who wandered into a yoga retreat. I had NO IDEA what I was doing. I brought a towel too small to sit on, got a mosquito bite on my left nipple, and cried in the car on the way home. So obviously, I went back the next week.

Nude living is weird, wonderful, freeing, and occasionally itchy. It’s also hilarious as hell. I’ve fallen into bushes, accidentally flashed a UPS driver, and once dropped a quesadilla on my own bare thigh. I’ve been walked in on by more than one confused plumber and had to explain “No, I’m not in a cult. This is just my Tuesday.”

This book is not a philosophical guide to the meaning of nudity. If you’re here for chakra balancing or how to harvest your aura in the moonlight, I suggest you back slowly away and find someone named Sage who sells crystals out of the back of a Subaru.

This book is for real people. Folks with stretch marks, weird tan lines, and that one nipple that points just slightly to the left. People who think, "I want to be naked more, but also, what if I bend over and my butt cheeks clap like thunder?"

I got you.

I’m here to teach you what I’ve learned the hard way, through trial, error, and one very unfortunate encounter with a nudist drum circle that ended in an ambulance ride and two emergency granola bars. You’ll get tips, tricks, stories, and probably some unsolicited info about my ex-boyfriends' terrible tattoo choices. (One had a lower back tattoo of a dolphin playing a keyboard. Don’t ask. His name was Brad.)

We’ll cover everything from first-time nude experiences to body hair dilemmas, sun protection (for your nethers!), nude dating, and why you should never, ever do naked trust falls with Susan around. Trust me. That woman once yelled “SURPRISE!” during a group meditation and farted so loud a squirrel fell out of a tree.

So get ready, buttercup. Take off your bra (unless you’re reading this in public, in which case—maybe wait 'til you’re home), pour yourself a glass of wine, and prepare to laugh, cringe, and learn how to live your best naked life without becoming a cautionary tale.

Or at least, not too often.