The audience in the theater takes its seats and slowly settles down. The curtain rises on a conventional living room in a conventional American home, neither squalid nor opulent. Middle class, it whispers.
A woman of a certain age sits in a chair in the middle of the room, reading a book. In a dimly lit corner, unnoticed at first, is a fully grown elephant, munching hay.
Enter a somewhat disheveled, gray-haired man. He sits in the chair to the left of the woman and begins to read a newspaper. Soon, however, he peers into the corner and does a double take.
“Hillary,” he says, sotto voce. “I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s an elephant in the room.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“I mean it. Look, right there in the corner. That gray thing eating hay. It’s huge.”
“I see it. It’s not an elephant.”