Waiting in line at a local restaurant the other night, a young woman with an hourglass figure dressed in a pair of hip-hugger jeans, that exposed three inches of flesh below her belly button, was laughing hysterically.

No one was talking to her, and I thought maybe the tiny tulip tattoo that was peaking out from her waistband was tickling her.

But upon further observation, I noticed she was reading the screen of a tiny cell phone.

We have come a long way in the portable phone industry. The first mobile phones weren’t much different than the walkie-talkies used by John Wayne when he liberated Iwo Jima.

Manufacturers are making phones razor thin and not much bigger than a bite-sized Snickers candy bar.

It seems as if every other television commercial is pushing the latest in wireless phone service.

People can send text messages and take pictures on cell phones that come in a rainbow of colors.

The cell phone was one of those inventions that I found unnecessary, not to mention annoying, until about a year ago.

I was on assignment and had to call the office for further instructions. I stopped in a small town and asked a kid about 12 years old on a skateboard where the nearest pay phone was located.

“What’s a pay phone?” the kid asked.

I told him of my dilemma and he offered to let me use his cell phone.

I don’t think there is anything more bothersome than sitting near someone in a restaurant who is engaged in a lively cell-phone conversation with another party who is just out of range and the diner must shout to be heard.

People are saying things on their phones that they normally wouldn’t be caught dead saying in normal conversations.

“It should be on the shelf above my dresser drawer where I keep my thongs.”

Where has cell-phone etiquette gone?

Go to any church and someone most likely will come out prior to the service to remind worshippers to turn their cell phones to the vibrate mode so they won’t cause a disturbance.

My cell phone is a basic model. I can make calls and receive them.

When I was shopping for a phone, a sales association asked what options I was looking for. It was as if she was talking geek speak.

“Do you want SMS capabilities?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “What is it?”

“Short message service.”

“No, but I have considered getting text messaging,” I said.

“It is the same thing, sir.”

I was told that by signing up with her company, I could get directory listings, movie showtimes, weather updates, dictionary definitions and stock market quotes.

“I just want to know how much this phone is going to cost me,” I said.

When it comes to deciphering its technology, I obviously will never use it to its fullest potential.

“How do you text a message?” I asked out of curiosity.

The associate punched in a quick message by using the key pad.

“I CNT HR U, SPK LDR, which when translated says, “I can’t hear you, speak louder.”

I’m a guy who has trouble deciphering the abbreviations on personalized license plates, and the confusion must have shown on my face.

“My hands are way too big for text messaging,” I told the sales clerk.

She glanced down at my hands and surprised me by saying, “Perhaps you are right, sir.”

I still have trouble remembering my cell number. But since owning the phone, I have learned one important lesson.

Never talk and drive at the same time. By mixing the two, it wouldn’t be long before my number would be up.