Dying to Diet

I'm pretty sure everyone I know is on a diet.  It is January after all.  They are scrimping, saving and passing me their leftovers....whilst I sit here on a Friday night with a box of Malteasers and a cup of tea wondering what skimpy outfit to wear for a massive drinking session to celebrate various birthdays in Birmingham.  What I should probably be doing is joining then, dancing to the Pussycat Dolls Workout (which I don't actually own but think maybe I should) rather than to the jazz I'll be attempting to dance to tomorrow night...yes I am going to attempt to be mature, I am going to a jazz bar.

Here is an actual conversation I heard in work this week:

1: Oh I have a really bad headache.
2. Diet headache?
1. Yes.  As always.  I know it's working though.  How's your diet?
2. Well I'm working on around 20 Weight Watchers points a day.
1. 20?! I'm only on 16!  I'm sure you should be eating less than that.

I didn't know if 20 was a lot.  I didn't know how points worked.  I definitely didn't understand a headache being clarification that the dieting is the way to go.  These women are dying to diet.  Starving as much as possible before having their binge day....the day after they've been weighed of course.  This makes no sense.  How about you eat in moderation?  Walk a bit more?  No?  Oh.  Ok.

It seems I have a touch of Jean Kerr to me..."I feel about airplanes the way I feel about diets. It seems to me they are wonderful things for other people to go on."...the only difference is I don't actually mind air travel.