The life of an unfathomably beautiful woman isn’t as easy as you think.

You have to deal with all the unwanted male attention, budget carefully so that your hair and nails always look immaculate and find somewhere to park all those Ferraris that your sugar daddy keeps buying you.

You also have to deal with the creepy gremlin (yours truly), that keeps approaching, rubbing their extremely-contagious pink eye and puffing on a Benson and Hedges – desperate to become your BFF so that she can pull a “Single White Female”.

“Why can’t I get a nice man?” I ask Natalie, my pretty lady friend, as I rub my crusted eye then shovel biscuits into my gob using the same infected hand.

“Shelley, I’m going to say this nicely because you’re my bestie and I love you – you’re a freak so you’re going to attract other freaks,” she began.

“Anyway, you don’t want to be dealing with all these different guys, it’s hard work.”

I begged her to elaborate as I curiously had a sniff of the gunk that my eye was emitting, you know, for scientific purposes.

As it turns out there are three main categories of men that the beautiful ladies have to fend off.

Obviously I had no idea, I’m always preoccupied with trying to find strong enough constraints to keep a man. Like, literal constraints so he can’t escape and go to the po-po.

First off, the cling-on. No, not the Star Trek alien but guaranteed to leave you just as repulsed.

The cling-on will inundate you with nothing but charming compliments.

Sure it’s flattering for a while, but when he’s repeating the same thing in 14 texts EVERY hour it starts to get a bit much.

The cling-on will ‘invite’ himself to every one of your social occasions and let the whole world know in a very creepy and invading-your-personal-space-on-a-massive-level kind of way that he’s your man.

Sure, if he was super hot and the feelings were mutual you would mistake ‘clingy’ as ‘keen,’ but alas, a cling-on is never hot.

Block, delete and move country before this social oddball has your face tattooed on his forehead.

Next up is the ‘cool’ guy. Not exactly cool a la James Dean, he likes entertaining the beautiful ladies (note the plural there).

He’s sexy, suave and treats you like a goddess, well, at least until a leggy brunette catches his eye.

Also known as a ‘player’, this guy will see you as nothing more than a gorgeous trophy, but he’s not happy winning the match, he wants to win the league. Avoid. He’s not cool, he just has an icy heart.

The next gag-inducing lothario is Mr Mean. This horror will wine you, dine you and tell you “you’re fine” for a while, but then you’ll get to know the real him.

Like Jekyll and Hyde his jealous, crazy and downright mean streak will come out eventually.

Before you know it you’ve ditched your Jimmy Choos and Estee Lauder will never again grace those perfect cheek bones.

A pretty rose should be displayed and admired, not left in a dark shed to wilt and die.

So there you have it. I’ve changed my mind about the plastic surgery. These guys sound worse than the 50-year-old, ‘still living with their mam’ guys that I message on eHarmony.

Beautiful lady problems. The struggle is REAL.