Scenes from the middle class

[There has been a years-long running joke between me and my brother which takes the form of:]

Him: So I bought a selection of jams.
Me: You are so middle-class.

[and]

Him: I brought the Sunday Times, Private Eye, and a spare pair of socks.
Me: You are so middle-class.

[and]

Him: I wanted to make crème brulee for after the poker game, but it’s really hard to do without a crème brulee torch.
Me: Oh my God, you are SO middle-class!

[Some years after this starts, I bring my brother to a lindy hop event at which I am performing]

Him: You don’t get to call me middle-class anymore. This is the most middle-class thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Me: Yeah, I know.

[a few months later]

Me: So, how was your skiing holiday?
Him: It was excellent. I was with a really good group of mates…

[there is a half-proud, half-ashamed pause]

…I nicknamed us ‘The Piste-y Boys’.
Me: OK, now you’re just a toff.
Him: Yeah, I know.