Then I went shopping. Part of the problem of not having a day job was, well, I didn’t have a day job, and my wife therefore assumed that aftermany years of solo struggle, she now had help with chores. So she asked me to go to the supermarket with her, to carry stuff home. I’m a big guy; she’s a small woman.
She was also a worried woman, although she was hiding it well. Our life savings were disappearing, and regular paychecks were merely distant memories.
In the supermarket—and this is a common experience for tall men—a
little old lady approached me and said, “You’re a nice tall gentleman, so
would you reach that can for me?” My wife said to me, “If this writing
thing doesn’t work out, you can always be a reacher in a supermarket.” I
thought, Great name! And I used it, and I smile now when I read Internet
commentary imagining I specified the name for its forward-going, striving,
progressive implications.
