MS. Inappropriate shimmied into the agency lobby smacking on gum, talking loudly on her cell phone but taking a break from the conversation just long enough to tell the receptionist she was there for her interview.

As she leaned over onto the receptionist's desk, her skirt, much too short even for a pool party, raised up a little too far in the back, revealing the bottom line of some brightly colored underwear that didn't quite conceal Ms. Inappropriate's king-size buttocks.

She had bleached hair that was braided with jewels at the tip of each of braid. Her wrap-around dark shades that covered too much of her face had frames with the same kind of jewels that adorned her nose.

Was this a job interview? Well, maybe for a strip club pole dancer.

Then again, maybe Ms. Inappropriate was there for a spot as an extra in some Hollywood production. No, probably not, or she would have announced she was there for an audition.

She sat down next to me and reeked of tobacco all the way from the streaks of blond in her hair to the glossy painted toe nails that protruded from her worn-out flip flops.

Of course I smiled. She smiled back while putting her hand over her mouth and apologizing for having so many missing teeth.

Nope, she'd never been a pole dancer or a movie extra and she had a legitimate interview with a job placement counselor because it was required of her as a resident of the halfway house where she lived. She said she was required to look for work.

Was she really hoping to find work or was she simply doing this exercise because it was a condition of her room and board?

Had anyone taught - or tried to teach - her about appropriate attire for a job interview or for an appointment with a counselor?

"Huh?" she inquired when I asked about her skills for employment and what she thought her chances might be for landing a job.

She was a nice young lady who suffered from the same malice too many of our young people are afflicted with - no guidance.

Way back when she was in the 2nd or 3rd grade, her non-caring mom, I was told, announced to all kids in the household that they were on their own. No more meals cooked. No clothes washed. No needs of any kind to be met.

No one, Ms. Inappropriate said to me, had ever mentioned gum, a cell phone, loud conversation and a too-short skirt were basically frowned upon by anyone in a position of providing her help. <!--[endif]-->

Nope. Just a bleeding-heart parent who knew the brightly colored underwear should never again have to be seen by the public.

Just a bleeding-heart parent who believes all kids would be on the right track if they just had someone to put them and then keep them there.

This blog can be found in our column section where you can print a copy or e-mail to someone
            http://talkaboutparenting.org/pages/articles.php