It’s been a tough couple weeks for breakups.

After two years of being the world’s richest white trash chick – and perpetually preggers popster princess – Britney Spears may be welcomed back into the good graces of America after dumping K-Fed. As a result, I expect the sometimes-corn rowed “rapper” will soon be dumped by his representation and record label.

Meanwhile, another Southern gal, Reese Witherspoon, split from “Flags Of Our Fathers” hubby Ryan Phillippe after seven years of marriage.

Neil Patrick Harris, TV’s Doogie Howser, broke up with millions (OK, dozens) of girls still in love with him from their ‘tween years after outing himself and officially announcing a split from heterosexuality.

In the advertising world, word is that Apple has dumped its “Mac Guy” Justin Long from its TV commercials (which is fine since everyone I know likes the dorky “PC Guy” over the annoyingly ultra-hip, hoodie-wearing slacker).

Which brings me to my recent breakup. After seven years, I’ve dumped my cell phone provider.

I know, it’s shocking that I stayed with the same company for so long.

In a world where it seems like a provider-user relationship ends every two years or so, I stuck it out.

It was about more than a commitment. I didn’t have to stay. In fact, after an initial one-year agreement, I went month-to-month for a few years, occasionally signed a new contract for less money and re-upped for another year, and replaced my phone several times.

Sure, we had our problems. Dropped calls, voicemails and texts that never reached me, mysterious charges and overages I could never account for. But even after I could take my number and leave, even though I lecherously examined other plans and providers, I stayed.

Then things went from bad to worse. Or, more appropriately, they went from PCS to P.O.S. The company absorbed another one, the Web site transformed into a non-navigational rat trap, customer service became even more of a disservice, and human operators were overrun by a disembodied (and infuriatingly placating, somewhat patronizing) female voice named Claire.

The mysterious charges increased. I ended up paying the bill twice a month due to extortion-like fees, and no one could explain why there seemed to be such incongruities between online invoices, phone statements and paper bills.

So I finally left. After an argument with Claire (who “didn’t quite catch” my swear-laden operator request), I signed up for a new service.

Why the irrational, misplaced loyalty to my provider? Much like the loyalty that chained me to a Hotmail account for several years, I always thought things could get better. I feared that if I left and pursued a new service, things would be worse – the devil you know, you know?

Maybe I was also more than a little bit lazy. It’s not so tough for me to move across the country, start a new job and begin life somewhere else. But it’s those little changes in life that get me.

Choosing a new dry cleaner – even if my current one melts my buttons – takes little increments of time.

Those little increments are sometimes so small it’s difficult to wedge them into daily activity.

But, every relationship, big or little, requires maintenance. And if both sides aren’t interested in making it right, it’s time to move on.

Drop the bad relationship like a phone call. It might be the only thing ever worth learning from Britney.

Aaron Sagers writes for Merge, an edition of The (Allentown, Pa.) Morning Call. Find Merge online at: www.mergedigital.com