As a woman of a certain age, I get a lot of Facebook ads about my vagina.

Not my vagina specifically.

I hope the Facebook algorithm doesn’t know about my specific vagina.

It doesn’t seem to. The ads all presume my vagina is faulty or failing or in need of a tune-up. It’s actually in terrific shape, thank you very much. It’s like they don’t know me at all.

I’m pretty comfortable in my body, talking about my body, thinking about my body. That doesn’t mean I want to see a million ads about vaginas.

I used to get a lot of ads for pajamas, and I appreciated that. I always want more pajamas. What did I click on that my ads are now fifty percent about vaginas?

Maybe they’re hoping I’ll tell friends about these products. They might be over-estimating how often women discuss their vaginal fitness.

I do have a friend, Diana, who is exactly ten years older than me. She will occasionally try to prepare me for things to come. I discovered I needed readers when I put on a pair she gave me when she moved on to progressives.

Early in our friendship, she told me “one day you will laugh or cough or sneeze and you’ll pee a little.” She didn’t want me to be alarmed when it happened, but to think of it as entering a sisterhood.

She was right. Despite the impressive fitness of my vagina, there have been occasional laughs, coughs, and sneezes that overwhelmed its defenses. When that happens, I immediately text Diana about it. Sisterhood.

Aside from that, I remain quite pleased with my vagina. It continues to serve me well and provide suitable entertainment to others.

Bring back the pajama ads.