How I met my ex's new squeeze

I met the ex's new partner last night, and I quite liked her.
You can see how far I have come in recent days.1) I'm able to say ex, not husband any more, even though technically he is my husband and not my ex. 2) I was able to agree to meet the new woman in his life, suggest it actually, and behave gracefully. (Well I was in a wheelchair in a small art gallery, so I'm not sure gracefully is accurate, but I didn't disgrace myself.)
There was considerable anticipation; what outfit to wear, what shoes to wear (shoe, singular, and I don't have any stylish flats, let me tell you) whether to try the crutches or stick with the wheelchair ( I certainly made an entrance), whether to have one endone or three.
But I had my support crew (thanks Jenny and Chrissy) and enjoyed the schmoozing.
The evening started badly when my drivers couldn't fold up the wheelchair to put in the car (one phone call to ex - see I can say ex - solved that) and when we collected a cyclist in front of the gallery. Or rather he collected us, riding on the footpath as he was, when he tried to avoid another pedestrian and ended up in my wheelchair. Forntunately, I was still hopping from the car. And no one was harmed. More distressing was the fact that he had a toddler on the back of the bike (not in an approved device) and he appeared pissed, but off they went into the night, and into the gallery we went. (Should I have done more about that little boy? Probably.)
And so I met the ex and his new squeeze and we talked about things we already knew about, our husbands (hers is a right prick, and she did remind me how lucky I am, and that luck extends to you now, I thought later but not unkindly), our children, our dogs, my dodgy ankle.
But she was kind, and put me at ease. I tried to do the same.
And so, on we go with the next chapter of our lives.
I came home to my children and dog. And he went home to hers.