It started as a simple question during a group interview —
“What’s the minimum yearly income you’d want your future husband to make?”
The women looked at each other, smiled, and hesitated.
Then one of them spoke first.
“Six figures. At least three hundred thousand.”
The room fell silent for a moment — until the host raised an eyebrow.
“Have you ever dated a guy who makes that much?”
She nodded confidently. “Yes. A year.”
Another woman chimed in. “For me, a hundred thousand — because that’s what I can offer to pay myself.”
“Okay,” the host said, “so two hundred?”
She nodded again. “Two hundred sounds fair.”
Then he turned to a third woman.
“Does your current husband make that much?”
She smiled slightly. “He makes more. But that would still be my minimum.”
One by one, the numbers began to rise —
$160,000, $200,000, $300,000.
Each woman said it as if it were perfectly normal.
Finally, the host leaned back and asked again, this time slower.
“You said ideal, right?”
“No,” he corrected himself. “The question wasn’t about the ideal.
It’s about the minimum.”
The women laughed awkwardly.
“Well, that is my minimum,” one said. “If we’re talking ideal, then sure — billionaire.”
The host chuckled. “Do you know how many people actually make $300,000 a year?”
They paused. One answered quietly, “Not a lot.”
He nodded. “Exactly. Maybe that’s why you’re still single.”
But one woman didn’t flinch.
“Maybe,” she said softly. “But that just weeds out the ones who’d waste my time.”
The host stared at her, surprised. “You’ve never been married, right?”
“No.”
“Do you want to get married? Have kids someday?”
“With the right person,” she replied.
“And if that person has to make $300,000 a year,” he said, leaning forward,
“you’ve just eliminated 98% of the population.”
She didn’t blink.
“I’m okay with that.”
And for a moment, no one said a word — because maybe that silence said everything.
