This post is not about advertising. Well, sort of.

If you have kids that drive, I have two, you know they get tickets.

My daughters could start their own Instagram account showing nothing but the tickets they've collected. The interesting thing here is that none of them are for moving violations. And I'm pretty sure this is a gender-related phenomena.

They've never had a fender bender.
Never been pulled over for speeding.
Or reckless driving.
My younger one once showed up on a red light camera but she successfully fought that in traffic school.

Or so she tells me.

No, my girls rack up parking tickets.

Like moths to a flame, they are drawn to curbs painted red, broken meters and obtuse parking signs that require decoding by the CIA. I don't pay for their tickets. That's on their own dime. Which of course is a misnomer, since the funds are usually drawn from the money they had amassed at their Bat Mitzvahs.

In other words, if you were there for the Haftorah reading, the celebratory vuvuzellas, the Hora dancing and the dried out roasted chicken, there's a good chance your generous gift went towards the Santa Monica Police Department.

So, imagine my surprise, when, while taking out the garbage the other day I spotted what looked to be like a ticket on the windshield of my daughter's Acura.

That's the other thing about kids driving cars. They may be driving them too fast. Or parking in them in the wrong places. But they're definitely not keeping them clean.

And while I appreciate the clever marketing efforts of Culver City Auto Detailing, there's no way I'm paying them $45 to wash the car.

That's what kids are for.