A Tale of Two Scissors

"A 'strange coincidence,' to use a phrase,
By which such things are settled nowadays."
-Lord Byron

Spouse donned the guise of a barber yesterday morning and, at my insistence, cut off my hair. It was a significant lop of the locks: I afterward estimated one foot in length and some considerable weight had parted ways with my head. It had been more than a year since my hair met a scissors.
Hours later, once the novelty diminished and I grew more used to being lightheaded, I began to suspect that such economical acts of spontaneity are an inherited streak. My brother has for years been veiled in an enviable mass of hair worthy of the most rampant rock star. In a striking coincidence and utterly out of character, he too decided that yesterday was a grand time for a change, and asked his own significant other to rid him of the majority of his hair.
My brother's obliging barber did the deed in the afternoon; mine trimmed the last strand before morning was quite underway. Given the five-hour time difference between our two worlds, one has to conclude that we were both perched precariously on our respective kitchen chairs at the very same time, thinking, perhaps, of the hearty surprise we might bring to our hair-conscious mother, but not at all intending to jolt one another.