Ashley, I can't believe it. Oh yeah, do I ever know Reston!
In 1964, after the horrible job I had in McLean, I went to work for a real estate developer named Rober E. Simon. He was building an entire city in the country. Everyone thought he was crazy. He had a big plan to build little shops with condos over them, around a man-made lake, and to have townhouses there. My job was as Secretary to the Director of Townhouse Sales. We built brand new townhouses, and our office was in a temporary mobile home. There was only a two-lane road in and out of the new town he named after his initials: R-E-S TON.
Oh yeah, I know Reston. One summer I swam in Queen Anne Lake (it's not very deep you know), and one winter I ice skated on it. Is it still there?
My mother and father sold the home we were born in in Arlington and bought a townhouse in Reston, where my daddy died. My mother still lives there.
Oh yeah, I know Reston. It was all farmland when I used to commute to that little mobile home in the middle of nowhere, before Reston was built. One winter, the snow was so bad, I had just arrived in my little MG, got out of the car and fell into a snow bank and couldn't swim my way out; I was there by myself forever....
Oh yeah, I know Reston.
Ashley, I'm a crier also. It gets worse as you get older, especially when you're a quart low on estrogen. I know it's tough, but you DON'T want the BF to have that as the last memory of you. Otherwise, he'll always think, yeah, I did the right thing to leave her. Make your exit a quick one, and be up-beat, peppy, happy, cheerful, and plant a real good one on him, just as you cheerfully walk out the door and say, "Bye, Handsome!" Then, after you're out of sight, you can break down.
You'll never regret it.
You can do this, Ashley. That which you survive only makes you stronger.
Have a safe trip -- and let us know when you get to Reston.
Bev
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<img src="http://home.comcast.net/~letsrow/smily3481.gif">Bevvy
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RESTON?!
