It happened. Maybe you were making coffee at seven forty-three in the morning in what you believed, with reasonable and evidence-based confidence, was a private situation. Maybe you came home to your parents' house for a sweater and used your key and did not check your texts first. Maybe it was a hotel bathroom situation that lives behind a locked door in your brain and that you are not ready to describe to anyone including yourself. However it happened, it happened. And you are holding this book because you need someone who has been there to tell you that you are going to be fine, that your family is going to be fine, and that the path from where you are right now to fine is shorter and more navigable than it currently feels. Kristin Williams (nudist, suburban Seattleite, occasional farter, survivor of the dish towel incident of October seventeenth) is here. She has been there. She put it off for eleven days and then she brought Domino's wings and she had the conversation and everybody was fine and her father had been on the preorder list the whole time and nobody knew. This book is for the mortified. The ones currently sitting in CVS parking lots with the engine running. The ones who have been avoiding the conversation for eleven days or eleven months. The ones whose parents are the nudists and who have been talking to doorframes for twenty-six years. And the ones whose parents just called and said: I want to try the nudist thing. What's inside: The minute by minute survival guide for the first five minutes after it happens, including what to do with your hands, what not to say, and why the reflexive apology makes everything worse The real reason family nudity incidents feel catastrophic; it was never about the nakedness, it was always about something larger, and knowing what it is makes it manageable How to have the conversation you have been dreading, including what to bring, what to say first, what not to say at all, and how to know when the conversation is finished What to do when your parents are the nudists and you are the one who walked in; the completely different and equally mortifying version of this exact same problem When your parents want to join you, the four possible responses, and how to know which one is yours How to set boundaries that actually hold without destroying Thanksgiving