What have you bought now?

The woman behind the counter at the post office was in a foul mood that day. I gave her my slip and asked her how her day was. She grunted and walked off to get whatever had arrived then handed me a rectangular shaped brown paper package with something hard in it and addressed to my husband.

I walked back to my car with the flat package under my arm.

My husband asked, "What's that? I was hoping my chair would be here?"

"What chair?" I got in the car stowing the parcel on the back seat.

"I ordered a really fancy camp chair a month or so ago," he replied while looking over his shoulder and reversing out.

"Nah, can't be that. Must be something from eBay."

As soon as we got inside the house, he tore straight into that little package. His curiosity getting the better of him.

"Huh." I heard him say while packing away the groceries.

"What is it?" My interest piqued and I walked over to look over his shoulder.

"It's a little stool thing," he said in confusion.

"What? When did you order that?" I asked picking up the bag it came in.

Yes, it was a little fold up stool. Not big enough for an adult to sit on. Not even big enough for someone over the age of five to sit on.

"I didn't order it. You must have." He pushed the stool towards me.

"Whoa! I didn't order that. I think I'd remember." I pushed it back towards him. "Show me this chair that you mentioned earlier."

He grabbed his phone and scrolled through his emails... and scrolled and scrolled. He eventually found the confirmation email he received after purchasing the chair TWO MONTHS AGO!

It really was a fancy camp chair. It reclined, it had a drink holder, it had a footrest that flipped up when you laid back a little. He would be like a king sitting on this luxurious chair while out camping in the Australian Outback.

All that for a measly $29.99.

"The price didn't strike you as a bit too low?" I asked.

"I thought it was a bargain. That's why I bought it," he said sounding quite pleased.

"They sent you the stool," I said matter-of-factly. "It's the same company name on the label."

"No," he said in disbelief. "Nah. It'll turn up." He looked down at the stool.

"The plain camp chairs are $100 from the shops. One with all the bells and whistles in not going to be that cheap," I started to laugh.

It turned out that late one night while having a couple of beverages and watching TV, long after I had gone to bed, he had been talking to a mate about camping. Then, while idly scrolling through Facebook, an ad had appeared for the most spectacular camp chair in existence.

And thus began the journey for the return of the $30.

The 'company', if it ever actually was one, had disappeared along with everything associated with it. No website, the emails bounced back, the Facebook page was long gone.

The bank said they could refund the money if we could prove it was a scam, so my husband filled out forms, then filled out more forms. He sent photos of what the chair was supposed to be. He sent photos of the stool that arrived.

It ended up taking several hours over a few weeks, but the money was returned. But it was no longer about the money but the principle.

Was it worth the time that it took to get that refund? Maybe not. How did it feel when that money hit our account? Priceless.