Horse ownership.
Films: running barefoot in an impractical frock through summery meadows, the horse whinnies and trots over, you gymnastically jump on his back and gallop off, jumping a hedge or two.
You fall off dramatically in front of the romantic lead resulting in a minor injury like a twisted ankle, mud smudged appealingly on one cheek, and a leaf in your otherwise perfect hairdo (no helmet obvs) and he pops you up on his horse and carefully brings you home where he'll tend to your ankle whilst looking up at you romantically from under his long handsome eyelashes.
Reality: you spend hours in the wind, cold, rain, wading through muddy paddocks, carrying wet mucky rugs, wheelbarrowing poo from stables to muck heaps, half of it getting blown back in your face so that you have a constant aroma of poop, every item of clothing you own smells distinctly of stables, and you wear a uniform of worn out wellies/jods with stains and holes in them and can't afford new ones because you spent all your money on horse food/ potions/ vet bills.
On the odd occasion you actually have time to ride the thing you chase it round the paddock for half an hour to catch it, scrape off as much mud as you can, drag yourself onboard using a stepladder, and head out into the lashing rain. The horse gets such a fright from an unusual looking rock or twig that it dumps you in the nearest ditch with a broken elbow/ coated in mud and runs off. You then have to chase it, flagging down the next land rover to come past, you find it occupied by a 70 year old farmer with no teeth and baler twine for a belt, three unfriendly collies and a sheep. He gives you a funny look because he thinks you smell disgusting and when he drops you off he suggests you get a more sensible horse so you don't have to ask for lifts again.
Meanwhile the horse has returned to the stables, got into the feed room, pulled everything off the shelves and eaten all the most expensive food and is now looking at you like he might be ill in quite an expensive way. You spend the next four hours with the on call vet, sorting his colic and making up a lush bed for him, and tidying the feed room. You get home at 1am and debate whether you have the energy to go for an x ray or even shower. You vet wrap your now horribly swollen elbow, collapse on the bed and resolve to sort out the mucky sheets in the morning.
You get up at 5am to start the whole thing again 🤣