Sometimes when you follow the rules you end up in old lady shorts.

The summer of 1999, between my sophomore and junior years of high school, I spent eight weeks at a music camp in Michigan playing the piano and cello. The camp was hard core, and I was grateful I was a piano major and didn't have to deal with the crazy competitiveness that band and orchestra kids had to deal with because of chair placements. But that's a different story.

This camp has a strict uniform code that hasn't changed much since it started in 1928. Concert wear for girls includes navy corduroy knickers, knee-high light blue socks, and a light blue collared shirt (or white on Sundays) tucked in. Plus a red sweater. In the summer. When not performing, girls are allowed to wear navy shorts, and the light blue socks do not necessarily have to be knee high. But the shirt must always be tucked in.

Going to this camp was a big deal for me. I thought about it for several years and worked hard to raise the necessary funds. I was so nervous about sending my audition tape and application that I later wrote about the application process for my college admissions essay. After I found out I was accepted (and even before, I'm sure) I pored over the literature they sent in the mail about camp life and what to pack.

I knew all about the uniform. Knickers and buttoned-up shirts were loaned by the camp (that's right, those things soaked up many a camper's sweat year after year), and you purchase-ordered your blue socks ahead of time. If you wanted shorts or light blue polo shirts you were on your own. But there were still rules.

According to multiple instructions, a girl's navy (and not denim) shorts were not to be shorter than the length of her fingertips. In fact, they called them "walking shorts." Now, if you girls would please stand up and notice how low your fingertips fall, and think back to high school and the days before hip long shorts, I think you will understand where this is going. Long shorts were not cool. But at camp, apparently they were the rule. I had to shop for a very long time before I could find long enough navy shorts that didn't have pleats and a high waist. The pairs I finally settled on were still extremely embarrassing. "It shouldn't be too bad," I convinced myself, "because all the other girls will have long shorts, too. Right?"

Wrong.

I arrived at camp with at least three pairs of long and unflattering shorts. I followed the rules. And I never saw a single other high school girl with long shorts like mine. Somehow they all knew they didn't need to worry about that rule. Or they simply chose fashion over obedience.

I was not a happy camper. And I sure sported those knickers proudly.