“You come off it,” I say. This is the old children’s strategy of retort. I’ve learned it from Georgianne or rembembered it or maybe simply saved and practiced it.” You’re being so, well…bourgeois.”
This is the word that intelligent, twentieth-century adults use when they want to criticize each other. It is the thinking man’s insult. It is the wrong word. Don’t let your mouth write a check that your ass can’t cash, Darrel said once, and this time I truly have. Darrel’s been storing up for it and leaps on it like a wild man. “Bourgeois!?” He’s pacing quick and hard, left to right. “You!” he shouts, freezes, points at me.”
Sist sett
