Definition
It's a classic
case of glomming: Americans seized on glaum (a term from Scots
dialect that basically means "to grab") and appropriated it as their
own, changing it to glom in
the process. Glom first
meant "to steal" (as in the purse-snatching, robber kind of
stealing), but over time that meaning got stretched, resulting in figurative
uses. Today we might say, for example, that a busy professional gloms a weekend
getaway. Glom also
appears frequently in the phrase "glom on to," which can mean
"to appropriate for one's own use" ("glom on to another's
idea"); "to grab hold of" ("glom on to the last
cookie"); or "to latch on to" ("glom on to an opinion"
or "glom on to an influential friend").
"I'm telling you, this is a great idea."
I kept silent. This was not a great idea. This had never been a great idea and the only reason I had gone along with this bad idea in the first place was to keep my over enthusiastic, not very practical dreamer of a brother from breaking his neck, breaking the law or selling his soul to the devil by accident and inflicting a curse upon our family that would last for generations to come (the last one was the reason why we never let my brother order pizza anymore. Who accidentally dials hell when they meant to dial dominoes and then thinks it a cheap deal to buy the pizza with your immortal soul rather than cash. Jesus, the blood, guts and bureaucratic tape I had to cut through to get that mess sorted out.)
So no. My brother did not go on any 'fun and interesting jaunts' without one of the family escorting him every step of the way. He whined about it, of course, but as the only alternative presented to him was to have his arms and legs forcibly removed and then be hooked up to a catheter for the rest of his life (this was after the 'immortal sheep' incident. The CDC, PETA and many Health and Welfare Agencies still had a pretty hefty hit out on my brother. I couldn't blame them. At all. Nowadays if my brother wanted out of the house, he had to go completely incognito as 'Theresa' in full make up and drag. This did not bother him in the slightest and he often had fun dressing up in full evening wear to pop down to the local pet supermarket and purchase more food and rubber toys for Ellie (the immortal sheep. Apparently immortal sheep still need to eat. And shit. Boy, did they shit. But apparently not feeding said immortal sheep (despite them being immortal and physically unable to starve to death) was cruel and inhumane. Personally, I thought it was quite inhumane for me to be forced to attend my brother, Theresa, when he went to the pet store and have to hide behind the hay bales when he decided his fabulous was too much for one person and decided to share it with the store by climbing on top the shelves and treating the other customers to a rendition of 'I Wanna Be Evil'. The fact that he did it splendidly and received a round of applause every time was neither here nor there.)
I sighed. I could be tucked up in bed right now, in my pajamas, binge watching some random show with pretty people who had impeccably groomed hair and yet still made unfortunate fashion choices wittering away about something i cared not for in the slightest.
But no, here I was, breaking into some poor unfortunate tomb like a common thief. Crowbarring the open door because 'Theresa' had just had her nails done and didn't want to chip them on the marble.
"This is going to be great!" He enthused again.
I shot him a look. "How, exactly, is breaking into and thereby desecrating some poor souls tomb going to be 'great'."
"Well, for a start, I am totally rocking this Lara Croft outfit."
I knew we shouldn't have got him a Playstation. Should I at least be happy he hadn't gotten around to playing Bayonetta yet so I didn't walk in on him trying to construct a bodysuit out of wigs?
Oh God. I could already imagine it.
"Well then Lara, mind telling me again why we're breaking into this poor person's final resting place and not, say, one of the pyramids of Egypt."
He sniffed. "It's good to start small when you're starting out."
"What happened to 'Go Big or Go Home?"
"That was last week. Plus, not even I can pull off the goddess that is Lesley Knope."
"She is amazing." I agreed.
"Exactly. So now we're starting small before working up to the big stuff."
"And we're raiding this particular person's tomb because.....?"
"Because the web chat group I belong to that reports on local creepy stuff has been going crazy this week saying that all sorts of noises are coming from this place and i want to check it out." He said with the face of an innocent five year old. (In case you are not a parent/auntie/uncle/professional babysitter, no five year old is innocent. Ever.)
"And you want to break in?" I said in disbelief. "Towards where the creepy noises are coming from."
"What if it;s an innocent person trapped in there?"
"What, they 'accidentally' got trapped behind a solid three foot marble door that, judging by the build up of moss and other small plant life, has not been opened in the past hundred years or so?"
"How?!" I suddenly remembered who I was talking to and held up a hand to forestall any response. "No, wait. Don't answer that."
"Don't worry sis, I got you covered!" He held up a pair of matching pistols.
"What? No! No! You are not allowed guns. Ever." I said furiously. "Give me those right now."
He pouted. "They're only water pistols I filled with holy water." he pulled the trigger and a limp stream of water trickled out. "Look."
"No guns. Ever. Give." I demanded and held out my hands. This was an iron cast rule in my family. My brother was to hold no guns, knives, swords, spears, rocket launchers, long sticks, sharp looking rocks, pillows (unless thoroughly vetted by a family member first) butterfly nets, swimming rings or lilos, action figures, gold fish bowls or chopsticks. At one point we considered banning him from spoons too but then realised he really would have to eat everything with his fingers then. And what unholy damage to himself and others could he dream up then? Something awful, that's for sure.
Grumbling under his breath about the unfairness of older siblings, he handed them over. I tucked them into my already overstuffed gun belt, but no way in hell was I letting him keep hold of them.
"Anything else I should know about?" I demanded.
"There's razor wire in my choker." He grudgingly admitted.
"Why would you put!? Never mind, hand it over."
"It's cool." He snapped.
"You literally put razor sharp wire, wire that is easily capable of cutting through flesh, sinew and bone like a knife through butter around your neck. This is why we don't let you have shoes with laces you know. You're going to be wearing shoes with Velcro fastenings to your grave. And probably in your grave too."
"You're no fun." Ah, the cry of disgruntled younger siblings everywhere.
"But at least I keep you alive."
"Can we just break into this grave now!" He whined. "My feet are getting cold."
"I really don't know how they can, what with those hiking boots on your feet. Are you sure it't not because you're wearing extremely short, short-shorts and the cold is just spreading downwards towards them? Because, lets be honest, your feet are about the only thing decently covered right now."
He made eyes at me. "Are you saying I look like a slut?"
"I would never, ever call Lara Croft a slut." I said honestly (because if she was a real person she'd be quite capable of yanking my head off.) "I just think that she tends to operate in...warmer climes than, say, an English graveyard on a drizzly Thursday night in late autumn. Why couldn't we have done this on a Friday night by the way? At least that way I could have had a lie in and wouldn't be picking grave dirt from under my fingernails at work all day"
"I'm live streaming as the Fabulous Theresa tomorrow and refereeing a THOFT match."
"Can you referee a THOFT match?"
"Technically yes. But it's going to be such a slug fest tomorrow that I've resigned myself early to the lack of order and so I will merely be attending in order to encourage and incite."
"I am sure you will excel at both. I remember what it was like when the family still played monopoly."
"Thanks sis. Say, why don't we play board games anymore."
"Because you excel at encouraging and inciting. Particularly inciting. Don't you remember when dad set the monopoly board on fire and we nearly had to call the fire brigade."
"Ah, yes. Good times. I'm still sad that I didn't get to see a real fire truck."
"Haven't you seen enough of them already by now?"
"It's just not the same when you're grown. Like seeing Santa at the mall."
"You set fire to Santa."
"But I did get to see a fire truck then." He brightened. "Now I remember. That was such a blast. He let me sit in the cab and everything."
"Aw, memories." I said, only slightly sarcastically. I, too, had been allowed to sit in the cab of the fire engine. And that Santa had been a right perv so I hadn't been too sad when my brother set him aflame. Neither had any of the other children.
The door finally gave way beneath my stubborn hands. "Finally!" I said.
I pulled it towards me and it swung open easily, just as if it was on oiled hinges.
A wizened man stood behind the door, hunched and decrepid, skin laying in dirty folds over his bones, green ooze sliding from his rotten mouth. His suit was red and moth eaten and lined with dirty, disgusting white fur.
"Ah, children." He said sleazily. "I've been expecting you."
"Nope." I said and slammed the door shut.
"This is going to be great!" He enthused again.
I shot him a look. "How, exactly, is breaking into and thereby desecrating some poor souls tomb going to be 'great'."
"Well, for a start, I am totally rocking this Lara Croft outfit."
I knew we shouldn't have got him a Playstation. Should I at least be happy he hadn't gotten around to playing Bayonetta yet so I didn't walk in on him trying to construct a bodysuit out of wigs?
Oh God. I could already imagine it.
"Well then Lara, mind telling me again why we're breaking into this poor person's final resting place and not, say, one of the pyramids of Egypt."
He sniffed. "It's good to start small when you're starting out."
"What happened to 'Go Big or Go Home?"
"That was last week. Plus, not even I can pull off the goddess that is Lesley Knope."
"She is amazing." I agreed.
"Exactly. So now we're starting small before working up to the big stuff."
"And we're raiding this particular person's tomb because.....?"
"Because the web chat group I belong to that reports on local creepy stuff has been going crazy this week saying that all sorts of noises are coming from this place and i want to check it out." He said with the face of an innocent five year old. (In case you are not a parent/auntie/uncle/professional babysitter, no five year old is innocent. Ever.)
"And you want to break in?" I said in disbelief. "Towards where the creepy noises are coming from."
"What if it;s an innocent person trapped in there?"
"What, they 'accidentally' got trapped behind a solid three foot marble door that, judging by the build up of moss and other small plant life, has not been opened in the past hundred years or so?"
"How?!" I suddenly remembered who I was talking to and held up a hand to forestall any response. "No, wait. Don't answer that."
"Don't worry sis, I got you covered!" He held up a pair of matching pistols.
"What? No! No! You are not allowed guns. Ever." I said furiously. "Give me those right now."
He pouted. "They're only water pistols I filled with holy water." he pulled the trigger and a limp stream of water trickled out. "Look."
"No guns. Ever. Give." I demanded and held out my hands. This was an iron cast rule in my family. My brother was to hold no guns, knives, swords, spears, rocket launchers, long sticks, sharp looking rocks, pillows (unless thoroughly vetted by a family member first) butterfly nets, swimming rings or lilos, action figures, gold fish bowls or chopsticks. At one point we considered banning him from spoons too but then realised he really would have to eat everything with his fingers then. And what unholy damage to himself and others could he dream up then? Something awful, that's for sure.
Grumbling under his breath about the unfairness of older siblings, he handed them over. I tucked them into my already overstuffed gun belt, but no way in hell was I letting him keep hold of them.
"Anything else I should know about?" I demanded.
"There's razor wire in my choker." He grudgingly admitted.
"Why would you put!? Never mind, hand it over."
"It's cool." He snapped.
"You literally put razor sharp wire, wire that is easily capable of cutting through flesh, sinew and bone like a knife through butter around your neck. This is why we don't let you have shoes with laces you know. You're going to be wearing shoes with Velcro fastenings to your grave. And probably in your grave too."
"You're no fun." Ah, the cry of disgruntled younger siblings everywhere.
"But at least I keep you alive."
"Can we just break into this grave now!" He whined. "My feet are getting cold."
"I really don't know how they can, what with those hiking boots on your feet. Are you sure it't not because you're wearing extremely short, short-shorts and the cold is just spreading downwards towards them? Because, lets be honest, your feet are about the only thing decently covered right now."
He made eyes at me. "Are you saying I look like a slut?"
"I would never, ever call Lara Croft a slut." I said honestly (because if she was a real person she'd be quite capable of yanking my head off.) "I just think that she tends to operate in...warmer climes than, say, an English graveyard on a drizzly Thursday night in late autumn. Why couldn't we have done this on a Friday night by the way? At least that way I could have had a lie in and wouldn't be picking grave dirt from under my fingernails at work all day"
"I'm live streaming as the Fabulous Theresa tomorrow and refereeing a THOFT match."
"Can you referee a THOFT match?"
"Technically yes. But it's going to be such a slug fest tomorrow that I've resigned myself early to the lack of order and so I will merely be attending in order to encourage and incite."
"I am sure you will excel at both. I remember what it was like when the family still played monopoly."
"Thanks sis. Say, why don't we play board games anymore."
"Because you excel at encouraging and inciting. Particularly inciting. Don't you remember when dad set the monopoly board on fire and we nearly had to call the fire brigade."
"Ah, yes. Good times. I'm still sad that I didn't get to see a real fire truck."
"Haven't you seen enough of them already by now?"
"It's just not the same when you're grown. Like seeing Santa at the mall."
"You set fire to Santa."
"But I did get to see a fire truck then." He brightened. "Now I remember. That was such a blast. He let me sit in the cab and everything."
"Aw, memories." I said, only slightly sarcastically. I, too, had been allowed to sit in the cab of the fire engine. And that Santa had been a right perv so I hadn't been too sad when my brother set him aflame. Neither had any of the other children.
The door finally gave way beneath my stubborn hands. "Finally!" I said.
I pulled it towards me and it swung open easily, just as if it was on oiled hinges.
A wizened man stood behind the door, hunched and decrepid, skin laying in dirty folds over his bones, green ooze sliding from his rotten mouth. His suit was red and moth eaten and lined with dirty, disgusting white fur.
"Ah, children." He said sleazily. "I've been expecting you."
"Nope." I said and slammed the door shut.
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