Picture this. It is 8:55 on a holiday morning, and even though I said I'd like to leave no later than nine for my parents' house, no one is remotely ready. The kids are sitting in front of cartoons. Husband is humming in the shower. I'm going crazy looking for clothes to pack for five people for two days.

At 9:29, I had all the kids in the car, and my dear husband emerged from the bathroom, clean-shaven and refreshed. By 9:30 we are on the road, thanks to my having set a new land-speed record for pulling everything together. I had fed the kids, the cat, the plants and the lovebirds. I dressed the children and packed the car, remembering the toys I was asked not to forget. "Relax", my beloved said as we dove, patting my visibly shaking hand. And then, just as I started to take in oxygen, he said: "Did you pack me some breakfast?"

So, the next time I get together with friends, I talk about this. In empathy and a rush of "been there, done that" my friends will also contribute one like it, or one even more outrageous. Well, our husbands are of course wonderful, loving, thoughtful guys, most of the time, but ... we bitch, and crib and vent out a barrelful of pent up feelings. And we come away feeling so, so much better. About ourselves, yes. And, amazingly enough, about our spouses, too.

First of all these are hugely therapeutic because they're a forum for outbursts we can't-or won't-have with our husbands. Sometimes our venting is just a thinly disguised bid for admiration we don't get from spouse and kids, who fail to appreciate the superhuman feats we perform every day in running their lives.

Before you feel too sorry for the men who are at the mercy of our group sessions, consider three points.

One: They know we do this. We make no attempt to shield them from the truth. They have overheard us sometimes! So that makes me believe either 1) they're not offended 2) they'd be offended except that they're in denial or 3) they hear, but, as usual, they tune us out.

Two: They get back at us. They talk about us to their friends, you can be sure. Of course, you would never over hear one guy telling another how he came home to find his wife sprawled on the couch watching TV and sipping beer while the kids disassembled furniture in the basement. But they will bewail how henpecked they are. By reciting a long list of chores we nags inflict upon them and by sighing frequently and shrugging in resignation, they achieve the sort of solidarity we do.

And finally: Just consider how it might backfire on men if we wives were to sit around sharing our mate's best behaviour, rather than his worst. The effect would be disastrous.

I'll give you a perfect example. After two weeks of paradise my friend returned to our fold positively gushing about her husband, the Perfect Millennium Man, because-can you take this? -the whole trip was a surprise anniversary gift. He cleared it with her boss before booking it. He whisked her away from her desk midday, midweek, to the airport. He even packed her bags. And when she got to the hotel, there was champagne, a dozen roses and a new nightie waiting for her.

Can you imagine how the rest of us felt when we got home to our poor excuse for husband?

See when we dish on our spouses, we're not just strengthening our bond with the girls. We're actually engaging in a very sophisticated form of relationship therapy, one that keeps us satisfied and content with the well meaning but hopelessly flawed individual we chose to accompany us through life. He isn't perfect, but from what we hear at these griping sessions, we know he could be so much worse. We actually come away feeling lucky to have landed a mate whose imperfections are so minor, even endearingly trivial. Our girlfriends give us invaluable perspective. The grievances they air throw into relief our husband's finer points.

Now, aren't you glad we had this little chat? Don't you feel so, so much better?

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