I have no clue how's it spelled. None. But my daughter can do it.
"Mom!" she says coming into the room. "I can gleek."
"Excuse me? Aren't you to young to gleek?" At this pooint I have no clue what's she's talking about, but it sounds faintly dirty. If anyone gets to gleek in this house it's gonna be me.
"No, gleek, Mom, gleek. You know how sometimes you'll be eating or talking and a small spray of spit squirts out of your mouth?"
Know it? Some of the worse times in my life are when I accidently gleeked during a job interview or a date or something. I just called it a weird thing. Or the end of my life as I knew it.
"I can do it on demand." And she does.
I stare, fascinated. "Do it again." She does. "No way! How do you do that?"
We head in the bathroom and she gives me a few lessons on gleeking. Unfortunately, I am not a gleeker. I roll the crap out of my tongue for fifteen minutes. Nothing. My daughter on the otherhand is a veritable font of spittle. Who knew?
It figures. I am a random gleeker.
And no. You can't use this in your book cause it's all mine!