I'll tell you about Fedya Rybkin, about how he made the whole class laugh. He had a habit of making guys laugh. And he didn't care if it was a break now or a lesson. So. It began with the fact that Fedya had a fight with Grisha Kopeikin over a bottle of mascara. Only to tell the truth, there was no fight here. Nobody beat anyone. They simply snatched a bottle from each other's hands, and the mascara splashed out of it, and one drop fell on Fedya's forehead. From this, a black blot the size of a penny turned out on his forehead.
At first, Fedya got angry, and then he saw that the guys were laughing, looking at his inkblot, and decided that it was even better. And did not wash off the blot.
Soon the bell rang, Zinaida Ivanovna came, and the lesson began. All the guys looked back at Fedya and quietly laughed at his blot. Fedya really liked that he could make the guys laugh with just his appearance. He put his finger into the bottle on purpose and smeared mascara on his nose. No one could look at him without laughing. The classroom became noisy.
Zinaida Ivanovna at first could not understand what was the matter, but she soon noticed Fedya's blot and even stopped in surprise.
Is that what you got on your face, mascara? she asked.
Yeah, Fedya nodded his head.
And what ink? This one? Zinaida Ivanovna pointed to the bottle, which stood on the desk.
This one, - Fedya confirmed, and his mouth parted almost to his ears. Zinaida Ivanovna put spectacles on her nose and seriously examined the black spots on Fedya's face, after which she shook her head in dismay.
In vain you did it, in vain! - she said.
And what? Fedya got worried.
Yes, you see, this ink is chemical, poisonous. It corrodes the skin. From this, the skin first begins to itch, then blisters jump up on it, and then lichen and sores go all over the face.
Fedya got scared. His face fell, his mouth opened of its own accord.
I won't wear mascara anymore," he murmured.
Yes, I don't think you will! - Zinaida Ivanovna grinned and continued the lesson.
Fedya hurriedly began to wipe off the ink stains with a handkerchief, then turned his frightened face to Grisha Kopeikin and asked:
There is, - Grisha said in a whisper. Fedya again began rubbing his face with a handkerchief, but the black spots were deeply ingrained into the skin and did not rub off. Grisha handed Fedya an eraser and said:
Here. I have a wonderful gum. Try it. If she does not help you, then write wasted.
Fedya began rubbing Grisha's face with a rubber band, but that didn't help either. Then he decided to run away to wash and raised his hand. But Zinaida Ivanovna, as if on purpose, did not notice him. He stood up, then sat down, then rose on his tiptoes, trying to stretch his arm as high as possible. Finally Zinaida Ivanovna asked him what he needed.
Allow me to go wash, - Fedya asked in a plaintive voice.
What, your face is already itchy?
N-no, - Fedya hesitated. - It doesn't seem to itch yet.
Well then sit down. You can take a shower during the break.
Fedya sat down and again began rubbing his face with a blotter.
Does it itches? Grisha asked anxiously.
N-no, it doesn't seem to itch... No, it seems to itch. I can't tell if it itches or not. Looks like it's already itchy! Well, look, there are no more blisters?
There are no blisters yet, and everything around has already turned red, - Grisha said in a whisper.
Flushed? Fedya got scared. - Why did it blush? Maybe blisters or sores are already starting?
Fedya again began raising his hand and asking Zinaida Ivanovna to let him go to wash.
Itches! he whimpered.
Now he was not laughing. And Zinaida Ivanovna said:
Nothing. Let it scratch. But next time you will not smear your face with anything.
I will tell you about Fedya Rybkin, about how he made the whole class laugh. He had a habit of making guys laugh. And he didn't care if it was a break now or a lesson. So. It began with the fact that Fedya had a fight with Grisha Kopeikin over a bottle of mascara. Only to tell the truth, there was no fight here. Nobody beat anyone. They simply snatched a bottle from each other's hands, and the mascara splashed out of it, and one drop fell on Fedya's forehead. From this, a black blot the size of a penny turned out on his forehead.
At first, Fedya got angry, and then he saw that the guys were laughing, looking at his inkblot, and decided that it was even better. And did not wash off the blot.
Soon the bell rang, Zinaida Ivanovna came, and the lesson began. All the guys looked back at Fedya and quietly laughed at his blot. Fedya really liked that he could make the guys laugh with just his appearance. He put his finger into the bottle on purpose and smeared mascara on his nose. No one could look at him without laughing. The classroom became noisy.
Zinaida Ivanovna at first could not understand what was the matter, but she soon noticed Fedya's blot and even stopped in surprise.
─ Is that what you got on your face, mascara? she asked.
─ Yeah, ─ Fedya nodded his head.
─ What kind of ink? This one? Zinaida Ivanovna pointed to the bottle, which stood on the desk.
─ This one, ─ Fedya confirmed, and his mouth parted almost to his ears. Zinaida Ivanovna put spectacles on her nose and seriously examined the black spots on Fedya's face, after which she shook her head in dismay.
─ You did it in vain, in vain! she said.
─ What? Fedya got worried.
─ Yes, you see, this ink is chemical, poisonous. It corrodes the skin. From this, the skin first begins to itch, then blisters jump up on it, and then lichen and sores go all over the face.
Fedya got scared. His face fell, his mouth opened of its own accord.
─ I won't put on any more mascara, he murmured.
─ I don't think you will anymore! ─ Zinaida Ivanovna chuckled and continued the lesson.
Fedya hurriedly began to wipe off the ink stains with a handkerchief, then turned his frightened face to Grisha Kopeikin and asked:
─ Is there?
─ Yes, ─ Grisha said in a whisper. Fedya again began rubbing his face with a handkerchief, but the black spots were deeply ingrained into the skin and did not rub off. Grisha handed Fedya an eraser and said:
─ Here you go. I have a wonderful gum. Try it. If she does not help you, then write wasted.
Fedya began rubbing Grisha's face with a rubber band, but that didn't help either. Then he decided to run away to wash and raised his hand. But Zinaida Ivanovna, as if on purpose, did not notice him. He stood up, then sat down, then rose on his tiptoes, trying to stretch his arm as high as possible. Finally Zinaida Ivanovna asked him what he needed.
─ Let me go and wash, Fedya asked in a plaintive voice.
─ Is your face already itchy?
─ N-no, ─ Fedya hesitated. ─ It doesn't seem to itch yet.
─ Well then sit down. You can take a shower during the break.
Fedya sat down and again began rubbing his face with a blotter.
- Does it itch? ─ Grisha asked anxiously.
─ N-no, it doesn't seem to itch... No, it doesn't seem to itch. I can't tell if it itches or not. Looks like it's already itchy! Well, look, there are no more blisters?
─ There are no blisters yet, and everything around has already turned red, ─ Grisha said in a whisper.
- Flushed? Fedya got scared. ─ Why did you blush? Maybe blisters or sores are already starting?
Fedya again began raising his hand and asking Zinaida Ivanovna to let him go to wash.
─ It itches! he whimpered.
Now he was not laughing. And Zinaida Ivanovna said:
- Nothing. Let it scratch. But next time you will not smear your face with anything.
Fedya sat as if on pins and needles and kept clutching his face with his hands. It began to seem to him that his face actually began to itch, and in place of the spots, bumps were already beginning to swell.
─ You better not three, ─ Grisha advised him. Finally the bell rang. Fedya was the first to jump out of the classroom and ran at full speed to the washstand. There he rubbed his face with soap throughout the break, and the whole class made fun of him. Finally, he wiped off the mascara stains clean and for a whole week after that he walked seriously. Everyone was waiting for blisters to jump up on his face. But the blisters never popped up, and during this week Fedya even forgot how to laugh in class. Now he laughs only at breaks, and even then not always.
I will tell you about Fedya Rybkin, about how he made the whole class laugh. He had a habit of making guys laugh. And he didn't care: change now or lesson. So. It began with the fact that Fedya had a fight with Grisha Kopeikin over a bottle of mascara. Only to tell the truth, there was no fight here. Nobody beat anyone. They simply snatched a bottle from each other's hands, and the mascara splashed out of it, and one drop fell on Fedya's forehead. From this, a black blot the size of a penny turned out on his forehead.
At first, Fedya got angry, and then he saw that the guys were laughing, looking at his inkblot, and decided that it was even better. And did not wash off the blot.
Soon the bell rang, Zinaida Ivanovna came, and the lesson began. All the guys looked back at Fedya and quietly laughed at his blot. Fedya really liked that he could make the guys laugh with just his appearance. He put his finger into the bottle on purpose and smeared mascara on his nose. No one could look at him without laughing. The classroom became noisy.
Zinaida Ivanovna at first could not understand what was the matter, but she soon noticed Fedya's blot and even stopped in surprise.
- This is what you stained your face with mascara? she asked.
"Yeah," Fedya nodded.
- And what ink? This one?
Zinaida Ivanovna pointed to the bottle, which stood on the desk.
“This one,” Fedya confirmed, and his mouth parted almost to his ears.
Zinaida Ivanovna put spectacles on her nose and with a serious look examined the black spots on Fedya's face, after which she shook her head sadly.
- In vain you did it, in vain! - she said.
- And what? Fedya got worried.
- Yes, you see, this ink is chemical, poisonous. It corrodes the skin. From this, the skin first begins to itch, then blisters jump up on it, and then lichen and sores go all over the face.
Fedya got scared. His face fell, his mouth opened of its own accord.
"I won't wear mascara anymore," he murmured.
Yes, I don't think you will! - Zinaida Ivanovna grinned and continued the lesson.
Fedya hurriedly began to wipe off the ink stains with a handkerchief, then turned his frightened face to Grisha Kopeikin and asked:
- Eat?
“Yes,” Grisha said in a whisper.
Fedya again began rubbing his face with a handkerchief, but the black spots were deeply ingrained into the skin and would not be erased. 
Grisha handed Fedya an eraser and said:
- On here. I have a wonderful gum. Try it. If she does not help you, then write wasted.
Fedya began rubbing Grisha's face with a rubber band, but that didn't help either. Then he decided to run away to wash and raised his hand. But Zinaida Ivanovna, as if on purpose, did not notice him. He stood up, then sat down, then rose on his tiptoes, trying to stretch his arm as high as possible. Finally Zinaida Ivanovna asked him what he needed.
“Let me go and wash,” Fedya asked in a plaintive voice.
- What, is your face already itchy?
“N-no,” Fedya hesitated. - It doesn't seem to itch yet.
- Well, then sit down. You can take a shower during the break.
Fedya sat down and again began rubbing his face with a blotter.
- Does it itch? Grisha asked anxiously.
- N-no, it doesn't seem to itch... No, it seems to itch. I can't tell if it itches or not. Looks like it's already itchy! Well, look, there are no more blisters?
- There are no blisters yet, but everything around has already turned red, - Grisha said in a whisper. 
- Flushed? Fedya got scared. - Why did it blush? Maybe blisters or sores are already starting?
Fedya again began raising his hand and asking Zinaida Ivanovna to let him go to wash.
- It itches! he whimpered.
Now he was not laughing. And Zinaida Ivanovna said:
- Nothing. Let it scratch. But next time you will not smear your face with anything.
Fedya sat as if on pins and needles and kept clutching his face with his hands. It began to seem to him that his face actually began to itch, and in place of the spots, bumps were already beginning to swell.
“You better not three,” Grisha advised him.
Finally the bell rang. Fedya was the first to jump out of the classroom and ran at full speed to the washstand. There he rubbed his face with soap throughout the break, and the whole class made fun of him. Finally, he wiped off the mascara stains clean and for a whole week after that he walked seriously. I kept waiting for blisters to pop up on my face. But the blisters never popped up, and during this week Fedya even forgot how to laugh in class. Now he laughs only at breaks, and even then not always.
"Blot" - a fairy tale by N. Nosov, which will be interesting to read for both a child and an adult. She talks about how Fedya and his classmates indulged in a bottle of mascara, snatching it from each other. So a blot appeared on Fedin's forehead. All classmates made fun of the "marked", and Fedya liked it, and therefore did not try to wash off the mascara. When the lesson rang, the teacher entered the classroom. She taught the mischievous one a lesson: she said that the ink was poisonous. Fedya was frightened, promising that he would no longer touch someone else's. How he behaved further, find out with the children. This tale teaches that in business you need to be serious, accurate and attentive.
I will tell you about Fedya Rybkin, about how he made the whole class laugh. He had a habit of making guys laugh. And he didn't care if it was a break now or a lesson. So. It began with the fact that Fedya had a fight with Grisha Kopeikin over a bottle of mascara. Only to tell the truth, there was no fight here. Nobody beat anyone. They simply snatched a bottle from each other's hands, and the mascara splashed out of it, and one drop fell on Fedya's forehead. From this, a black blot the size of a penny turned out on his forehead.
At first, Fedya got angry, and then he saw that the guys were laughing, looking at his inkblot, and decided that it was even better. And did not wash off the blot.
Soon the bell rang, Zinaida Ivanovna came, and the lesson began. All the guys looked back at Fedya and quietly laughed at his blot. Fedya really liked that he could make the guys laugh with just his appearance. He put his finger into the bottle on purpose and smeared mascara on his nose. No one could look at him without laughing. The classroom became noisy.
Zinaida Ivanovna at first could not understand what was the matter, but she soon noticed Fedya's blot and even stopped in surprise.
“What did you do with your face, mascara?” she asked.
"Yeah," Fedya nodded.
- And what ink? This one? Zinaida Ivanovna pointed to the bottle, which stood on the desk.
“This one,” Fedya confirmed, and his mouth parted almost to his ears. Zinaida Ivanovna put spectacles on her nose and seriously examined the black spots on Fedya's face, after which she shook her head in dismay.
You did it in vain, in vain! - she said.
- And what? Fedya got worried.
— Yes, you see, this ink is chemical, poisonous. It corrodes the skin. From this, the skin first begins to itch, then blisters jump up on it, and then lichen and sores go all over the face.
Fedya got scared. His face fell, his mouth opened of its own accord.
“I won’t wear mascara anymore,” he murmured.
“I don’t think you will anymore!” Zinaida Ivanovna grinned and continued the lesson.
Fedya hurriedly began to wipe off the ink stains with a handkerchief, then turned his frightened face to Grisha Kopeikin and asked:
“Yes,” said Grisha in a whisper. Fedya again began rubbing his face with a handkerchief, but the black spots were deeply ingrained into the skin and did not rub off. Grisha handed Fedya an eraser and said:
— On here. I have a wonderful gum. Rub it, try it. If she does not help you, then write-is gone.
Fedya began rubbing Grisha's face with a rubber band, but that didn't help either. Then he decided to run away to wash and raised his hand. But Zinaida Ivanovna, as if on purpose, did not notice him. He stood up, then sat down, then rose on his tiptoes, trying to stretch his arm as high as possible. Finally Zinaida Ivanovna asked him what he needed.
“Let me go and wash,” Fedya asked in a plaintive voice.
“What, is your face already itchy?”
“N-no,” Fedya hesitated. - It doesn't seem to itch yet.
- Well, then sit down. You can take a shower during the break.
Fedya sat down and again began rubbing his face with a blotter.
- Does it itch? Grisha asked anxiously.
“N-no, it doesn’t seem to itch… No, it seems to itch.” I can't tell if it itches or not. Looks like it's already itchy! Well, look, there are no more blisters?
“There are no blisters yet, and everything around has already turned red,” Grisha said in a whisper.
- Flushed? Fedya got scared. - Why did it blush? Maybe blisters or sores are already starting?
Fedya again began raising his hand and asking Zinaida Ivanovna to let him go to wash.
- Itches! he whimpered.
Now he was not laughing. And Zinaida Ivanovna said:
- Nothing. Let it scratch. But next time you will not smear your face with anything.
Fedya sat as if on pins and needles and kept clutching his face with his hands. It began to seem to him that his face actually began to itch, and in place of the spots, bumps were already beginning to swell.
“You better not three,” Grisha advised him. Finally the bell rang. Fedya was the first to jump out of the classroom and ran at full speed to the washstand. There he rubbed his face with soap throughout the break, and the whole class made fun of him. Finally, he wiped off the mascara stains clean and for a whole week after that he walked seriously. Everyone was waiting for blisters to jump up on his face. But the blisters never popped up, and during this week Fedya even forgot how to laugh in class. Now he laughs only at breaks, and even then not always.
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I will tell you about Fedya Rybkin, about how he made the whole class laugh. He had a habit of making guys laugh. And he didn't care: change now or lesson. So. It began with the fact that Fedya had a fight with Grisha Kopeikin over a bottle of mascara. Only to tell the truth, there was no fight here. Nobody beat anyone. They simply snatched a bottle from each other's hands, and the mascara splashed out of it, and one drop fell on Fedya's forehead. From this, a black blot the size of a penny turned out on his forehead.
At first, Fedya got angry, and then he saw that the guys were laughing, looking at his inkblot, and decided that it was even better. And did not wash off the blot.
Soon the bell rang, Zinaida Ivanovna came, and the lesson began. All the guys looked back at Fedya and quietly laughed at his blot. Fedya really liked that he could make the guys laugh with just his appearance. He put his finger into the bottle on purpose and smeared mascara on his nose. No one could look at him without laughing. The classroom became noisy.
Zinaida Ivanovna at first could not understand what was the matter, but soon noticed Fedya's inkblot and even stopped in surprise.
“Is that what you stained your face with, mascara?” she asked.
"Yeah," Fred nodded.
- And what ink? This one? Zinaida Ivanovna pointed to the bottle, which stood on the desk.
“This one,” Fedya confirmed, and his mouth parted almost to his ears.
Zinaida Ivanovna put spectacles on her nose and with a serious look examined the black spots on Fedya's face, after which she shook her head sadly.
"You shouldn't have done it, you shouldn't have done it!" she said.
- And what? - Fedya got worried.
- Yes, you see, this ink is chemical, poisonous. It corrodes the skin. From this, the skin first begins to itch, then blisters pop up on it, and then lichen and sores go all over the face.
Fedya got scared. His face fell, his mouth opened of its own accord.
“I won’t wear mascara anymore,” he murmured.
“Yes, I think that you won’t be again!” Zinaida Ivanovna grinned and continued the lesson.
Fedya hurriedly began to wipe off the ink stains with a handkerchief, then turned his frightened face to Grisha Kopeikin and asked:
“Yes,” Grisha said in a whisper. Fedya again began rubbing his face, rubbing it with a handkerchief and a blotter, but the black spots were deeply ingrained into the skin and did not rub off. Grisha handed Fedya an eraser and said:
- On here. I have a wonderful gum. Rub it, try it. If she does not help you, then write wasted.
Fedya began rubbing Grisha's face with a rubber band, but that didn't help either. Then he decided to run away to wash and raised his hand. But Zinaida Ivanovna, as if on purpose, did not notice him. He stood up, then sat down, then rose on tiptoe, trying to stretch his arm as high as possible. Finally Zinaida Ivanovna asked him what he needed.
“Let me go and wash,” Fedya asked in a plaintive voice.
“What, is your face already itchy?”
- No, - Fedya hesitated. - It doesn't seem to itch yet.
- Well, then sit down. You can take a shower during the break.
Fedya sat down and again began rubbing his face with a blotter.
“It itches?” Grisha asked anxiously.
- No, it doesn't seem to itch... No, it seems to itch. I can't tell if it itches or not. Looks like it's already itchy! Well, look, there are no more blisters?
“There are no blisters yet, and everything around has already turned red,” Grisha said in a whisper.
- Flushed? - Fedya was frightened. - Why did you blush? Maybe blisters or sores are already starting?
Fedya again began raising his hand and asking Zinaida Ivanovna to let him go to wash.
“It itches!” he whimpered.
Now he was not laughing. And Zinaida Ivanovna said:
- Nothing. Let it scratch. But next time you will not smear your face with anything.
Fedya sat as if on pins and needles and kept clutching his face with his hands. It began to seem to him that his face actually began to itch, and in place of the spots, bumps were already beginning to swell.
“You better not three,” Grisha advised him.
Finally the bell rang. Fedya was the first to jump out of the classroom and ran at full speed to the washstand. There he rubbed his face with soap throughout the break, and the whole class made fun of him. He finally wiped the mascara stains clean and walked seriously for a week afterwards. I kept waiting for blisters to pop up on my face. But the blisters never popped up, and during this week Fedya even forgot how to laugh in class. Now he laughs only at breaks, and even then not always.
