Oh, I know it's there.

Lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce on me with overpriced wrapping paper and crowded shopping malls.

Christmas.

As a rent-paying adult, the holidays just aren't the same.

When I was a kid, Christmas magically happened. Perfectly wrapped presents mysteriously appeared under a decked-out Christmas tree. Dinner miraculously materialized on the dinner table.

When the holidays rolled around, all I had to do was show up.

Not anymore.

The reality of Christmas hit me — OK, knocked me over — the first year I lived on my own.

I had these romantic notions of turning my one-bedroom rental in Kaimuki into a Winter Wonderland.

The day after Thanksgiving, I drove to the nearest parking lot selling trees. I inspected each one, looking for bald spots and awkward shapes. When I found that perfect tree, I took it to the cashier who rang me up.

Eighty bucks.

Eighty bucks!

That was the first blow. But I managed to steady myself for Round 2: getting the tree home.

I hadn't thought about that. A Honda Civic — coupe, no less. Not exactly the best vehicle to transport a 6-foot tree. Good thing I keep rope in my trunk.

But then I realized something else: I had no tree stand. One of those minor details I had overlooked.

I raced to Longs and got the cheapest stand I could find, begging the Christmas gods to make it work.

It worked.

But the tree didn't fit.

In a moment of sheer insanity, I dashed to City Mill and bought a saw. (Yes, a saw.) I stood there, in my living room, cutting down the base of the tree, wood chips littering the floor. Nothing could stop me now!

Then the electricity went out.

But by now I'm a crazed lunatic, feverishly sawing the trunk of a Christmas tree surrounded by burning candles. It was a scene from a seance.

Finally, it fit. All I had to do now was stand it up.

I had figured — foolishly — that a 6-foot Christmas tree would fit nicely in my living room, right in the corner and out of the way.

Yeah, after I moved the couch, TV, coffee table, bookshelf, collection of CDs and a stack of newspapers — most of which wound up in my bedroom.

I hated that tree.

But this Christmas, I've decided to try it again.

I've learned my lesson.

Got the stand, got the lights, got the saw.

But I got something even better this time around:

A boyfriend who'll do all the work.

Reach Catherine E. Toth at ctoth@honoluluadvertiser.com.