Hip, Hip, Oy Vey

Walking with the elegant Genie in Studio City, a place that was never hip, you'll have to trust me on this, until, suddenly overnight, it became the Capitol o' Hip Hip Oy Vey, we pause, respectfully, to take in the overall trendiness. We stand on the block that borders Schvitz!, our longtime gym, a block that just keeps adding another ode to the hip and the happening, what with the tiny coffee hang, the famous ice cream spot, the très chic overpriced boutique, the spin studio, and the goldmine that is Joan's on Third. Yet another money-grabber catches us off-guard:
"Oh, dear God, what the hell is that place?"
"It came out of nowhere," Genie says.
"What the @#$% is a Fro-Nut?"
"I honestly don't know."
"But you're so much smarter and taller than I am."
"True, but I still don't have a clue."
"Fro-Nut. Fro-Nut. Oh, I got it. Frozen nuts that could break a tooth. Sponsored by the Studio City Dental Association."
"Let's go in and ask."
"It looks closed."
"It's open. See? There's a sad little person behind the counter."
"Wondering why no one wants to eat frozen nuts."
"I really don't think they're selling frozen nuts."
"Have you got another suggestion?"
"Something donuty. Like a Cro-Nut."
"Or a So-What Nut."
"Yum."
We walk past Fro-Nut, two nutty gals, one tall, one short. At this stage of the game, we aren't too interested in the latest fads. Unless, of course, they come in our size.