When I got up this morning, Paul's mom and sister were up, talking to him about this and that. Pual pointed out the thermometer display in the kitchen, which claimed it was -29.7 F outside. It obstinately refused to indicate a sane temperature even when I tap-tapped on it. I looked outside, but the car's tires hadn't shattered, for which I was profoundly thankful.
A bit later, we went out in search of, $DEITY help me, Cool Whip. It had warmed up (FSVO "warm") to a mere (!) -15 F. The car started on the first crank, though it wasn't its usual sprightly self; the shifter stuck in Park until I fiddled with it, and the steering was stiffer than usual. Paul said that that's normal, and when he drove back, he didn't think the car was performing unusually at all for being that cold.
Paul drove back because I was on the phone with the guy from Madrid. I'm going over there the first week in January. Now, to get the ticket...