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7 Reasons I Don’t Own a Cell Phone

Here's the deal. I don't own a cell phone, and I'm OK with that. Why, you ask?

1. The expense. Mobile phone companies (also known as The Man) seem to have set the monthly price at what they can "get" from consumers, rather than what their product (phone service) is worth. $100 per month seems like a complete rip-off.

RELATED: Why I Took My Son's iPhone Away

2. That tinned sound, and fading in and out that happens during conversations. Everyone I know uses a cell phone as the main means of communication (duh), but I understand only about 70 percent of what cell phone users say to me when I'm speaking to them from my landline. That means that I’ve missed close to 1/3 of every phone conversation I’ve had with everyone I’ve known, since at least 2005. How many missed dinner invitations and unheard compliments has that amounted to?

3. I’m afraid of dropping a cell phone in the toilet. People way smarter than me have done it, so it’s unreasonable to think I would get out doodie-free.

Cell phones kidnap people’s attention.

4. Texting and driving. I shouldn’t have to even expand on this one. Many studies show that it is as dangerous as driving drunk—except that I see an inordinate number of people texting as they drive (including moms with kids in their car!). If the car in front of you goes 5 to 10 miles per hour under the speed limit and gently careens toward the shoulder of the road—or worse, the centerline—they are for sure texting (or drinking).

5. I don’t carry a purse. I’d have to carry the phone in my back pocket, which is why I am so afraid of dropping a cell phone into the loo.

6. I don’t like talking on the phone. Any phone. So why would I want more phones with which to do that?

RELATED: Hilarious Texts From Moms

7. Cell phones kidnap people’s attention. Example: I’m having an emotionally relevant conversation with my best friend, when she receives a text. She holds up an index finger, looks down at her phone and chuckles. In that split second, she has gone from being present with me, to some social purgatory—she’s engaged in a completely different conversation now with someone far away. As she finishes a brief reply text, (I’m staring burning daggers into her phone), she looks up, still smiling, and says, “I’m sorry—what?”

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