Gonna get thrown out

As part of the wiff's physical fitness regimen, she runs her ass off on the treadmill as if a grown man of 31 years and six feet of height were chasing her around the apartment with an erection. To motivate herself during said workout, she jacks up an iPod full of her favorite thumping disco tunes that feed her the willpower-sausages she needs to keep going.

The only problem is, her songs-o'-empowerment all deal with throwing her man out.

The guy's been a real bastard, been underestimating her, been cheating on her -- treating her in a bad way, yo. Apparently, the missus enjoys the feeling of independence you get from belting out Beyonce's "Irreplaceable":

You must not know 'bout me/
I can have another you by tomorrow/
So don't you ever for a second get to thinkin'/
You're irreplaceable

Disturbing much? And then there's Aguilera's "Fighter":

You were, there by my side/
Always, down for the ride/
But your, joy ride just came down in flames/
'Cause your greed sold me out of shame, mmm-hmm

Or maybe, Blu Cantrell's "Hit 'Em Up Style":

When you go then everything goes/
From the crib to the ride and the clothes/
So you better let him know that/
If he messed up you gotta hit em up

Did I do something wrong? I thought I was doing OK. Now, I find out that I'm a fucking bum whose domestic partner entertains power fantasies of tossing me out on my ear. I don't sing songs on the treadmill about disintegrating some bitch with heat vision, or tossing city buses at a shrill harridan from a great height. The least she could do is exercise the same courtesy.