"Forty-two," Oliver replied, then paused before reiterating. "Forty-three, by now. My birthday's just before Christmas and that's come and gone." For sure now, apparently, if it was February now at the very least.
He constructed the sandwiches, mayo, baby spinach, tomato, roast beef, with the horseradish and a little salt and pepper directly on the meat, then the cheese and another mayo-layered bread slice, then cut each one diagonally. "Seems like the majority of people in the house are somewhere between their mid-20s and early-30s. We get stragglers goin' a bit further either way, obviously." He let his finger wag back and forth between them as he headed back towards the fridge to put a few things away, returning with a jar dill pickle slices, wrestling with the lid for a brief second before it popped off.