I’ve wondered what to say about this for a long time. It’s so ugly that I stop to visit it almost every walk. It reminds me of what my stomach must look like turned inside out. Or maybe the inside of my lungs. It seems like a genetic experiment where the numbers got mixed up. But then I remember that pugs, which are delightful pets, look almost as ugly. In fact, they are prized for their absence of beauty. The owner of this plant says I should see the one in the back yard. It’s many times bigger. He loves it like a pug and visits it every time he waters. “This one’s doing well,” he says. “Yes,” I reply, not knowing exactly how to interpret “well”. It seems like something only a mother could love, and yet here I am almost every walk checking to make sure it’s doing well. Despite not wanting to, I seem to understand completely.