Growing up, my family owned a succession of shitty cars. We had a car where the floorboard on the driver’s side had rusted out so you had to keep your feet on the pedals. Another had the windshield held on with duct tape. One had been underwater at some point. We were never sure from day to day whether our car would start, or whether we would have to start looking for the next shitty car we could buy for less than $500. Because of this vehicular uncertainty, my mother would never fill up the gas tank on any car. Her reasoning: if the car died, at least she wouldn’t have just paid for a full tank of gas.

I thought of this logic recently when I was in the lady aisle at Target. As I debated between the 36-count and the 72-count boxes of tampons, I felt more conflicted than I should over tampons. Do I spend the extra $5 and have enough tampons for at least 6 months? Or should I go month-by-month, just in case I’m accosted by menopause in 6 weeks? And in this metaphor am I my mother or am I the shitty car? Is it really terrible if I’m hoping I’m the shitty car, and not my mom? AND, if I am the shitty car, how do I deal with the knowledge that there is an eventual, inevitable breakdown coming?

I’ll stop with the car metaphor now because I’m beginning to feel a little bad about how far I could go with the similarities between me and a shitty car. But the uncertainty of feeling remains about this line of delineation between stages of life. I definitely won’t mourn the loss of cramps, PMS, spotting, leaking and unplanned pregnancy scares. But I’m already pre-mourning the loss of thrilling ovulation hormone surges, supple skin, and “fertile” youth.

So what to do? I guess (going back to the car thing) I have to decide if I’m going to age as a junker or as a classic. I’m hoping classic, but I have a family history of junker, so it’s a tough call. Luckily, if you’re having this debate with yourself in the lady aisle at Target, you can put both boxes of tampons in your cart (decision-making can be left until the checkout line) and head over to the wine aisle. Any choice is a good choice there, and while there may one day be leftover tampons at my house, there will never be leftover wine.