I use the flowered pattern first. The blood dyes the fabric a deep maroon, but the little flowers stay white. I experiment with different ways to fold the fabric when I put it in my vagina because each fold gives a unique, tie-dyed effect.

Allie's squares are a lighter red than mine. She takes her squares out sooner than mine, so they have some white.

I dry my squares on my balcony.

Andy says the squares smell and they're attracting ants.

I tell him this is a way to celebrate menstruation and to show respect for the beauty of my blood.

Andy says he'll take me out to dinner tonight.

Allie and I are disappointed when the bleeding stops, but we have enough squares to start a quilt.

While Andy reads Rolling Stone on the sofa, Allie and I arrange the squares in a pattern on the kitchen floor. Andy points out that the fabric is hardening, and the squares with a lot of blood are getting sort of crusty, and crumbling on the floor.

Allie and I look at him indignantly.

"I mean," Andy says, "That maybe you should rinse them out. Like pre-washed jeans, you know, to get out the excess dye."

We wash the squares and almost all the blood comes out.

"Blood never comes out of anything," Allie says. "This is amazing."

Andy suggests that we make some bed sheets out of the fabric.

Instead, we rip out the cotton lining in our underwear, and we reline it with our stainless white on white flowered fabric.

Andy says we look like a sewing bee. Then he mops up the floor.