Marmalade.

I really really, REALLY hate it when my husband leaves indiscernible smears of marmalade on the bench. And then I waltz along, book in hand, and dump book beside toaster as I blithely manufacture breakfast, only to pick up said book and discover it, and I, and suddenly my coffee cup, and MAGICALLY my plate of toast are all covered in invisible, dust-gathering, skin-pinching film that is the joy of marmalade. Everywhere but my toast.

I should mention that ants also love marmalade. Especially when some thoughtful soul has already liberated form in the jar and encouraged them to make anty, swirly patterns. Seriously. Don't fingerpaint with marmalade!