Look. You know how some people just can't resist pushing a big red "Do Not Push" button? That's me. Except the button is my pants. And the warning sign is usually a friend yelling something like, "Kristin, for the love of GOD, not HERE." I remember it vividly. The sky was the color of an overcooked egg yolk, and the beach was crawling with families, volleyball bros, and at least one bachelorette party in matching hot pink "Bride Squad" tank tops. A totally normal beach day. Which is exactly why I knew I had to get naked. Now, don't get me wrong-I was trying to be normal at first. I packed like a responsible adult. Sunscreen. Water bottle. Extra towel. Bikini that sort of fit when I bought it but now made one of my boobs look like it was trying to escape to Canada. But then Tanya-bless her perfectly sculpted smug butt-leaned over and said, "Kristin, please don't do anything weird today. Let's just blend in." You know what I heard? "Kristin, please be your full feral self and do something that will emotionally scar at least one person's grandpa." Naturally, I whipped off that ill-fitting bikini like I was being chased by bees. And just like that, my left boob got its first taste of coastal breeze and a toddler screamed in the distance. This book is for everyone who's ever wanted to feel the sun on their butt cheeks and wasn't sure if it was allowed. I mean, sure, society tells us all sorts of things like "Don't run naked across a beach unless you want to end up on the evening news" and "Ma'am, you can't store grapes in there." But I say: why not? Not the grapes part. That got me kicked out of a Whole Foods. But the beach part? Oh honey, strip down and get weird. I didn't always used to be like this. There was a time I was modest. Shy. Polite. The kind of girl who changed her clothes inside a sleeping bag at summer camp. But then life happened. My twenties happened. One boyfriend said I looked "weirdly confident" naked. Another said I reminded him of "a sexy lizard sunning on a rock." And one magical day, I just stopped giving a damn. This is not just a book about being nude. It's about living nude. Which sounds inspirational and poetic but is really just an excuse to tell you the story about the time I tried to ride a tandem bicycle naked with Susan (spoiler: a lot of bruising, mostly emotional). We'll talk about sand in awkward places, nudist etiquette (yes, it's a thing), how to avoid eye contact with someone who's applying lotion to their butt crack, and how to handle the inevitable friend who says "I support your nudity but like... over there. Far away." So buckle up-wait, no, unbuckle. That's the whole point. Unbuckle everything. Because whether you're full-time nudie or just curious what it's like to air out your lady bits on a breezy Tuesday afternoon, I promise you this: it's gonna be funny, it's gonna get weird, and there's at least one story involving a seagull, a rogue tampon, and a funny butt-related incident I am not allowed to discuss in detail. Now take off your pants and let's begin.