I loom, you loom, we all loom
Until this summer, ‘looming’ was something that, in my vocabulary at least, was done only on dark streets, distant horizons or foggy oceans by ghosts, shadows, ships and baddies.
But, since June, I’ve had to accept and embrace a new definition of the verb because my daughter has taken to ‘looming’ in her room.
And, oh, how it makes me laugh when I call up to DD, because she’s been silent in her room for three hours, and the reply comes back, ‘Yes I’m fine! I’m looming!’ Or I get asked, ‘Do you mind if I loom for a bit?’ [‘Over what?’ I always want to ask.]
You’d think I’d have got used to the new vernacular by now but I still imagine my daughter dressed up as a headless ghost, peering over the shoulder of some unsuspecting victim; or looming out of the mist over our pool in her M&S swimsuit and scaring the dragonflies.
But, to be fair, looming’s a craze that served us well. It kept DD quiet through the boring bits of the summer and has, to date, yielded 268 bracelets, a pair of foot thongs, a belt, a necklace, a headband, two watch straps, two pencil grips, a glasses string, an entire class of little rubbery figures with backpacks, an owl, a Minion, Ana from Frozen, a panda and a life-sized version of a Range Rover Sport (not really on the last one).
But I think it’s a craze on borrowed time – at least in our house. Give it a month or two and I’d bet my bottom dollar the only ‘looming’ being done around here will be me in a ghost costume out trick-or-treating.