It will not shock you learn that I never played Spin the Bottle. This is just as well, because had I been obliged to kiss anyone publicly at any point within the years that one would typically be playing Spin the Bottle, I would have died instantly. You scoff, but I'm convinced that in certain quantities there is a lethal combination of inexperience and mortification; I suspect it manifests in spontaneous combustion on an impressive scale. For the record, I could probably play it now, but it hasn't come up. Most people I know are married, so I guess it would make for an awkward dinner-party entertainment.
Apparently there is a thing in Spin the Bottle called "Seven Minutes in Heaven" which requires two bottle-selected people to retire to another room or a closet or something for seven minutes, presumably to get it on in a grope-ier/tongue-ier way than they would on a regular turn. I'm shaky on the details.
This morning, the phrase popped into my mind as I reached, eyes still closed, for the familiar button on the clock. This is exactly what the snooze alarm grants every time: seven minutes in heaven. No bottle required.