It’s like I know the magic words, but I’m obviously not waving my wand right

I looked at the receipt and shook my head, then shrugged and put it away.

“What?” my mother asked

“She only charged us $65.”

“And?”

“Well, it should have been at least $72 before taxes.”

“That’s nice,” my mother said lightly. Clearly, the discount was no surprise. And that’s why I love going shopping with my mother (well, in addition to the fact that she invariably ends up paying for something). My mother has friends — shopkeepers, business owners, dentists, and who knows who — and when I go places with my mother, I get a discount, or an appointment that’s suddenly available, and who doesn’t love that?

My mother is very proud of her “yichus atzmi” as my grandfather dubbed it. You’ve probably never heard of her; the only one writing articles about her is me. My mother’s superpower is her extroversion. She loves people. And they love her right back, hence all the discounts.

Her favorite game is Jewish Geography, and she always wins. I joke that my mother knows everyone, but I often feel like I’m not joking, just speaking a universal truth.

And then there’s me. I’m an acquired taste, not like coffee or wine, more like a Scottish haggis. Even my husband tried to say no after our first date. I try being warm and engaging like my mother, but even if I use her words, I come off as stilted and maybe a little manipulative. It’s like I know the magic words, but I’m obviously not waving my wand right.