Once upon a time, a fellow by the name Particleman lived in San Antonio. The year was 2003. His friend, Skorloff, informed him of a most interesting sale taking place at the Central Market, a purveyor of fine foods and libations. Central Market had made the business decision to rid itself of all forms of liquor with an alcohol content above a certain amount. Such a move would allow Central Market to legally serve samples of other wines to customers.

Particleman took heed of Skorloff’s words and visited a Central Market when he was in Austin for the weekend. Particleman roamed and roamed the store until he came upon the rack of liquors to be liquidated.

“Hark,” Particleman exclaimed, “I have found the booty, and it is good.”

Particleman aimed to buy the whole lot. Alas, his willpower held him in check and he resolved to choose one – just one – bottle of port wine. He browsed, he compared, he analyzed, and finally settled on one bottle.

Vowing to save the bottle for a special occasion, he returned to San Antonio and to his hum-drum existence at the massive EnormoCo at which he labored.

Months passed, and still no worthy occasion rose to motivate Particleman to open the bottle. Particleman’s sister had a daughter, and still, he was not moved to open the bottle. He was accepted to law school, but still, he left the bottle to collect dust.

The years went by, and the existence of the bottle passed into distant memory.

Then, something surprising and not at all expected happened. Just last night, Particleman was out to dinner with a friend, and he suggested he and the friend return to Particleman’s abode to relax, drink wine, and converse with the roommate. The roommate was not present upon their arrival, but presently entered grasping his own bottle of newly-purchased wine.

Soon the three were drinking from the roommate’s wine and having grand old time. It was then, at this very juncture, that Particleman sought out the long-forgotten bottle of port wine and presented it to the group. They were awed by its age and mystery.

“Open it,” they implored. Particleman obliged. They drank from the wine, and were happy.

By the end of the night, the roommate’s bottle was nearly empty, and the bottle of port – the bottle that had waited all these years – had finally tasted fresh air. It now lies in wait for the next such occasion.