Kat George

When I got home I threw myself across my bed, pizza still in hand. I continued to cry, louder now, and reveled momentarily in my hideous self-indulgence. I fell asleep to the sound of my own sniveling. In my wrought sleep I dreamed vividly of a man I used to love. I dreamed of him getting married, of my total, gut-wrenching heartache; I woke up feeling exhausted, used up physically and emotionally…

So here I am, an almost-26-year-old-woman sitting alone in half darkness, writing this to you with Colgate Total all over my face. I’ve been Googling and self-diagnosing, and the internet seems to think that toothpaste will help resolve our issues. But I don’t know Pimples, I really don’t. The second I think I’m free of you, you just pop up again, completely unexpected. Would it kill you to call in advance?

There’s nothing worse than wearing pants—nudity is a wonderful thing. But you’re at your most vulnerable when you’re naked, at the mercy of emotions and the elements, which are both liable to kick your bare ass at any moment. Here’s a guide I prepared (based on my own experience) to help you navigate the minefield of the ubiquitous birthday suit in the context of a relationship.