Mission accomplished (not)

I had four goals today: Get coffee and a muffin at the new coffee shop in Tribeca; get a haircut; buy shorts (for an upcoming trip to Mexico) and khakis; eat lunch at Szechuan Gourmet in Midtown.
It didn't seem like much of a challenge. I had all day to shop and a few bucks in my pocket, and the weather, while overcast, was dry and fall-like. Piece of cake, right?
Goal 1 quickly went by the wayside when I saw the new coffee place, Kaffe 1668, packed with the stroller crowd. I'd rather have a pitcher of steamed milk thrown in my face than put up with a roomful of screaming kids before I've had my a.m. caffeine fix. Besides, walking three blocks down the street to Duane Park Patisserie hardly constituted a sacrifice, and the cranberry-walnut scone was sufficient reward. I tied the score at 1-1 with my usual $13 haircut up the street, and hopped the 2 train to Macy's. That's when things began to go horribly, horribly wrong.
First, there were no shorts on display - not a big surprise in November. Then I saw what appeared to be the perfect khakis. All cotton? Check. Wrinkle free? Check. Plain front? Check. Price? Nothing marked. There were no price tags on any of the khakis; no signs; no sales help available. Well, I have principles! I don't give my business to stores that play games with prices. So I walked. Why not? Jos. Bank up on 45th and Madison was having a sale on pants and sweaters, and Szechuan Gourmet was a few blocks up the street. Except Szechuan Gourmet wasn't open yet, and it was beginning to rain. So I called an audible and hit Han Bat on 35th for some Jayook Bokum (above). Thinly sliced pork, sauteed vegetables, spicy sauce, pungent kimchi - that hit the spot.
On to Jos. Bank! Except now it was pouring. Walked two blocks, ducked in to Starbucks, bought a coffee, saw there was no place to sit, headed back out, got wet. Managed to grab a cab on Madison and entered Jos. Bank ready to spend. Then I tried on their khakis. The waist came up halfway between my belly button and my chest; I felt like a 75-year-old who had shrunk 2 inches. The salesman insisted that that was how all plain-front khakis fit, and I figured that was my cue to head back home and admit defeat.
I salvaged a measure of respect by finding a nice cotton sweater for $14 at Syms a few blocks from my apartment, and splashed home a 3-1 loser - my ambition once more exceeding my grasp.