My phone rang at 9:30 pm last Sunday night, which is quite unusual (just the act of calling someone is unusual these days). When I answered, I heard a lot of giggling coming from the other end of the line. [Can you say “line” with wireless technology?] It was a good friend who, once she was finished laughing, managed to squeak out, “Hey, Jo! I have a friend over, and… I’m cooking.” (At this point I’m sure she’s going to ask me a cooking question.) “Okay,” I say, distracted by Game of Thrones. She continues: “… and I’m naked. Well, sort of. I’m wearing one article of clothing.” “Great!” I exclaim, as an enthusiast of both cooking and being naked. And sometimes naked cooking, depending on what I’m making. I stop paying attention to the show. Then she says, “I know this is really weird, but, um… my friend wants to take pictures of me, and I really want to share them with someone, but I don’t want it to be creepy or sexual, and so I was wondering if I can share them with you. Can I — ” “YES!” I interrupt her, super excited that my friends want to share naked photos with me. Platonic naked photos. That she trusts me to look at her body, not judge her, not see her as a sexual object, compliment her on how good she looks naked, and then erase the pictures from my phone makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like a baby panda. This happened a day after a different friend sent me a photo of himself wearing a lacy ladies thong in front of a sink full of dildos and anal beads (hot, right?!). Thanksgiving was this past week, and I’m thankful for trusting friends and the beauty of the human form. By the way, the one article of clothing my friend was wearing was a baseball cap.