On Sundays my father always wore that dull grayapron –--- the one with the race cars all over it. The ritual（仪式，惯例）began after breakfast. My mother 16 into the folds of the Sunday paper. Off came the suit coat he had worn to church that morning. 17 went the shirtsleeves . On went that 18 . For the next hour Dad did the dishes, singing folk songs like "Who Put the Chow in Mrs. Murphy's Chowder?"
