I hate being sticky. I despise it. It drives me crazy. When I get my hands sticky, I have to wash them, a napkin is no good (a wet wipe will do, though).
When I was in first grade, my first grade class went on a field trip to the Baltimore Zoo; we were there all morning. Leaving the zoo, we ate lunches our mothers packed for us in brown bags. Well, I packed my own lunch. Mom always made me pack my own lunch. That day, I had peanut butter and jelly, and a bit of jelly got on my hand, and although I could get the jelly off, I couldn't get the sticky off. I couldn't wash my hands, because we'd already left the zoo, we were picnicking in a little park outside the zoo. I was afraid I would have to ride all the way back to school with a sticky hand, so I stuck my hand to the bus seat. It was late spring, and a rather warm day, so my hand sweated the sticky off. Sweat is better than sticky, but only a little.
When I eat pancakes, I use syrup sparingly, and, lifting each bite off my plate with my fork, I let all excess syrup drip off. Syrup likes to form long, stringy bits, and those get stuck on my chin; that was pretty bad when I was a child, but is now even worse, because I like my beard to remain soft and fluffy, and not sticky.
Today, I got bananas. I like bananas when they're a little green, because bananas that are too ripe are too sweet for me. The banana I ate today, though, was a little too green. The peel didn't peel evenly, it was tough and broke in places, and where it broke, it released banana sticky, which isn't a dirty sticky or a horrible sticky, but an irritant nonetheless.
There are other kinds of sticky, too, like milk sticky, which is gross, or the sticky left after taping something with duct tape, and removing the tape. There is pine sap sticky, which I normally need to wash my hands a few times for to get rid of.