Daily writing prompt

What tattoo do you want and where would you put it?

Some people get tattoos to remember happy days or important moments. Others get them just to look cool. Me? I’m thinking about getting one that looks like the factory sticker nobody asked for, slapped onto my skin. “Made in [Birth Year] – Best Before [Already Expired].” Yeah, like the forgotten milk carton hiding behind fresher stuff in the fridge, wondering if someone might risk it—or if today’s the day it finally goes down the drain.

Life feels exactly like this sometimes: we’re all stamped with an invisible expiry date. And let’s be honest, I passed mine ages ago. But here I am, still on the shelf, pretending I haven’t gone sour yet.

I’d add extra notes, of course—little disclaimers, because life forgot to send me the manual. “Some Assembly Required,” for starters. I’ve been trying to piece myself together for decades, and trust me, there are parts left over. I’m pretty sure they were important, but somehow I’ve managed without them (at least that’s what I keep telling myself).

Then there’s “Contents May Vary.” Some days I’m sweet and calm, other days I’m bitter like black coffee left overnight. My mood is basically a roulette wheel spun by caffeine, how much sleep I got, or if someone cut me off in traffic. Each morning, it’s a surprise even to me.

My personal favorite addition: “Now with 20% More Anxiety!” This update wasn’t something I asked for, but life seems eager to keep improving me, whether I like it or not. It’s as if I’m a smartphone forced into updates overnight, waking up more confused and worried than before.

I might even go all out with nutritional facts. “Confidence: 5% – shrinks fast when people make eye contact.” “Energy Levels: 2% – barely functional after three coffees.” And let’s not forget “Overthinking: 250%,” which really just means lying awake at night replaying awkward conversations from ten years ago, because clearly, that’s helpful.

Psychologists say tattoos are a way to show who you really are inside. In my case, it’s less about expressing myself and more about openly admitting I’m a limited edition, slightly defective human. Instead of hiding behind filters and fake smiles, I’m putting it all out there—right on my skin.

It’s also strangely philosophical. I’m basically admitting the truth that everyone tries to avoid: we are temporary. We arrive brand-new, slowly wear out, then quietly expire. The difference is, I’m not pretending. I’m openly labeling myself as “Out of Warranty,” no returns allowed.

Will people laugh at it? Probably, because deep down they feel it too. Will it make people uncomfortable? Absolutely—but that’s okay. Sometimes truth stings a little. Will my parents shake their heads, sighing in quiet disappointment? Definitely. But they’ve been doing that for years anyway.

And that’s exactly why I want this tattoo. To remind me—and everyone else—that life is short, messy, and imperfect. We’re all just slightly questionable cartons of milk, trying our best to be fresh long after our “Best Before” date.