What do you get the girls who have everything?

Well, if you’re shopping for the glamorous girls of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, you get some arm candy and fast. Because the miniature canines these ladies tote around in their purses aren’t the only dogs in their lives. Take a look at their husbands. Or better yet, don’t.

Readers, it’s taken us a couple weeks to get a sense of what Beverly Hills is really like en Bravo. It packs a mythic zip code and makes the crazed consumption of the Orange County housewives look like a trip to Costco. But all the glitz in the world can’t distract us from these cringe-inducing men. Even worse is their cringe-inducing behavior, and the Bravo producers make sure we see it all.

Why is it that being a real housewife usually means that you have to suffer an unattractive mate? Aren’t real estate taxes enough of a burden?

We remember in New York how Jill Zarin is married to a real dog, Bobby Zarin. LuAnn de Lesseps had the plump, elderly preppy Alexandre de Lesseps, but they eventually divorced. Alex McCord married the Basset Hound-like Simon van Kempen, now famous for his “banana hammock” look when the pair was vacationing on St. Barts.

Orange County’s Alexis Bellino had Neanderthal Jim, who reminded us of a lower-echelon pawnbroker. Oh wait, he is a pawnbroker, as well as a house-flipper. Whatever pays the bills!

And now in Beverly Hills, the fading beauty Adrienne Maloof-Nassif has hubby and rhinoplasty specialist Dr. Paul, truly the ugliest husband on all the franchises. When he appeared, we searched for a picture-mute on our remote control, to no avail.

As the duck-billed Taylor Armstrong boasted to Lisa about her “big, Texas cowboy” husband Russell, we had high hopes. But when he entered their bedroom to supervise Taylor packing his clothes for a weekend getaway, we thought he was more likely her accountant. Russell looks like one of those desperate millionaires who even Patti Stanger can’t hook up with a gold-diggin’ young secretary.

Why, Taylor, why?

And when he notices Taylor knocking back too many glasses of Dom Perignon in the Las Vegas hotel suite with her drunken housewife friends, he escorts her out pronto. Taylor barely offers a quack as she leaves the room. Opposites may attract, as another housewife quips, but they can also tear each another apart.

Lisa VanderPump-Todd’s hubby Ken is charming, quiet, and supportive, and in need of a skilled embalmer. Is he still alive?

Just enough to pack his Dolce and Gabbana underwear into his Vuitton luggage, but at least he doesn’t expect Lisa to do his packing for him. Ken’s styling, particularly his white over-layered hairdo, remind us of a geriatric Rod Stewart in his twilight years, and we nearly expected him to deliver a spontaneous rendition of “if you think I’m sexy.” No, Ken, we don’t.

Even lovely Camille Grammer is married to a dog. That’s right, readers, we said it. Kelsey Grammer demonstrated unforeseen staying power by spinning a slight character on Cheers into Frasier, now on eternal rerun on Lifetime. But what is he doing on Broadway in La Cage aux folles? He’s not exactly the guy we’d want to see in nothing but a pair of Daisy Dukes at the next White Party.

So it makes sense that tonight’s episode opened with Camille hitting a few balls — tennis balls, that is — with young buddy Nick. He’s a real looker. Both Camille and Nick protest that he’s really Frasier’s good friend, sent to keep an eye on his trophy bride while Frasier tickles the fancy of urban metrosexuals on the east coast.

But before Nick and Camille can start their little back-and-forth, Camille’s already asking him to play in only a jockstrap.

“Do we need to open more balls?” he asks. She inquires if he has enough room to store the balls. You get the idea. She bounces around the tennis court, and we can’t help but notice Nick’s nipples chafing against his tight T-shirt. Forget the cameras, Camille. Why don’t you reach over and feel his Nick-pack? Plenty of others have profited from sex-tape scandals.

The wonderfully acerbic Lisa reminds us of what Norma Desmond might be like if she had just loosened up, thrown more parties, and not driven poor William Holden to his death in her capacious pool. Lisa really knows how to lay out the arm candy, what with the delicious Francis Dimitrius, executive chef of her West Hollywood restaurant Villa Blanca. And let’s remember Lisa is the only Housewife fabulous enough to have her own live-in gay, the “permanent houseguest” Cedric who could really give Nick a run for his balls.

It’s a relief, then, that our current favorite Beverly Hills housewife, Kyle Richards, is the only cast member who can boast a truly hot husband, the sultry Maurizio Umansky. And Kyle trusts him, we’re pleased to learn. It’s other women that she doesn’t trust, and she seems on her guard as the couples head to Vegas for a pleasure junket.

It’s all fun and games as the girls play high-heeled basketball in Adrienne’s mega-hotel, The Palms. That is, until Camille gets her groove on. We knew there were problems when Paul stuffed dollar bills down her top just before she gyrated wildly at a Jay-Z concert. But we weren’t prepared for the gorgeous Nick to mysteriously find the crew in their luxury suite and then start sucking face with buddy Fraiser’s babe. Or, Taylor demonstrating her oral skills with a wad of puffy pink cotton candy.

As they say in France, all that’s gold does not glitter. It’s no wonder Kyle and Camille were at each other’s throats by the end of the trip. There’s only room for one gorgeous bitch on this show, and we can’t wait to see who claims the crown.