Lose the Trunks

How To Find the Confidence To Become the New Naked Neighbor!

De: Kristin Williams

Narrado por: Virtual Voice

I never set out to be the naked neighbor. If anything, I was the queen of the cover-up, the kind of woman who wore a hoodie over a one-piece while everyone else was out there in their bikinis, looking like a Victoria’s Secret ad. But one fateful day my swimsuit decided it hated me. I am talking mutiny. I am talking wedgie in places I did not know fabric could reach. And by the end of that tragic day at Lake Sammamish, I learned something very important about myself: sometimes you just have to drop the trunks and say to the universe, “Fine, you want a show? You got it.”

Now I live outside of Seattle, in the kind of suburban neighborhood where people still post angry notes on Nextdoor if someone leaves their recycling out too long. We are not exactly known for being loosey-goosey around here. It is cul-de-sacs, SUVs, and soccer moms with matching yoga pants. And there I am, the one who mows the lawn in a floppy hat, a smile, and… not much else.

I can hear you right now, whispering, “That’s crazy, Kristin. You cannot just run around naked. What about kids? What about HOA rules? What about bug bites in very sensitive crevices?” Yes, yes, yes. All excellent points. And yet, let me tell you, there is a certain type of joy that comes from learning how to just stand there in the buff, holding a spatula at the grill, while your neighbor Bob pretends not to stare directly at your left boob.

How I Became the Girl Who Got Tired of Pants

It started small. First, it was just at home. You know that moment when you come home from work and the bra comes off like it is trying to escape a hostage situation? Well, I realized I liked that feeling so much that I just… kept going. Pants off, socks off, shirt off. Suddenly, I am cooking spaghetti in the nude, praying I do not splash myself with boiling water because that would be the dumbest obituary of all time.

And then Tanya, my best friend since high school, caught me. She popped by one day, did not even knock, and there I was, flipping pancakes in the buff. She screamed like she had walked in on a bear in her kitchen. “Good Lord, Kristin, you look like a streaker who lost her way,” she said. “Put some underwear on before I lose my breakfast!” Of course, thirty minutes later she was topless too, because Tanya has never met a dare she could refuse. That is the thing about nudity: it is contagious. Like yawns, but with boobs.

So Why Am I Telling You This

Because you might be sitting there, thinking you could never, ever do what I did. And maybe you are right. Maybe you like your pants. Maybe you are allergic to Vitamin D. Maybe your idea of rebellion is not shaving your big toe for a week. That is fine. But I am here to tell you, if a 38-year-old suburban woman with cellulite, anxiety, and a mortgage can strip down and embrace it, so can you.

I am not saying you need to start grilling naked sausages in your backyard while your neighbor Bob cries into his Solo cup. I am saying there is a freedom that comes with letting it all hang out, even just for yourself. And that is what this book is about: how to lose the trunks, the shame, the hiding, and find that bold little voice in your head that says, “Who cares if I jiggle? Who cares if Tanya says her butt is better? Let them look.”

And we are going to laugh our butts off while we do it. Because trust me, once you start, the stories that follow will be even better than your neighbor’s security footage.